Complete Control
by aneccentric
Summary: Louisa is a product of Gotham. Cynical in her view of life, skeptical of those around her and unforgiving of those who hurt her. Getting a job at her friend's free clinic in the Narrows proves all her philosophies true. But will it protect her?
1. Suggestion

Authors note: I have been on this site since 2012 and have never posted a story. I've started many stories, but never published or finished them. I'm incredibly self-critical, to the point where nothing gets done. This is my attempt to change that. Anyway, this story is about Louisa. She's cynical by Gotham's design and keeps to herself. Her friend Maggie has just graduated medical school and decides to open a free clinic in a not so safe place in midtown. Louisa reluctantly joins but realizes quickly the patients aren't just the homeless and hopeless. I'd say the plot starts around Batman Begins, but keep in mind I don't follow the film's plot religiously.  
This is a Joker/OC pairing. Please review, PM me, any feedback or questions will be much appreciated.

 _Extensive update made: March 2018_

* * *

Lou never went this close to the Narrows for apparent reasons. She didn't come from wealth or security, yet she had never felt more unsafe than she did at that moment. Every hesitant step she took seemed to take her closer to the edge of a cliff. She imagined Arkham would come tumbling over the bridge and empty out all the prisoners, leaving her to fend for her self. The respectable and wealthy had pushed the weak and helpless right to the edge of Gotham. As if the Narrows and its inhabitants were the dust left on an old carpet that was to be thrown out. It was primarily the human landfill of the city. Kids are growing up with a grim view of the high-security facility as if the Gotham elite was nudging them toward it, as a light suggestion. The occasional sound of raindrops hitting a puddle or the hood of a parked car added to the gloomy mood of the seemingly abandoned street. Maybe it was the silence that scared her the most, and it wasn't supposed to be so quiet as she knew it was far from safe. Scurrying more now towards the Narrows, a scream and thud erupted loudly in the streets making her gasp and jump to the side of a building. She pinched her arm and shakily puffed on a cigarette as she viewed the dangerous, dark streets that surrounded her. On the left corner of the street below her, she saw what appeared to be a laundromat. The only place on the block that had lights on as well. An old sign was barely hanging on to the spot above the entrance, like a souvenir from a more virtuous time. Though she knew such a time had never occurred; nobody had told her about it anyway. Digging into the pocket of her old denim jacket she fished out a crumpled note;

' _Former_ _laundromat, Lincoln Street._ _Easy to spot.'_

She looked down at the note and backed up at the run-down building on the corner with a sigh. _Well, fuck_. _It seems_ _like_ _this_ _is_ _the_ _place_.

She opened up the heavy door to the clinic, and it protested with a loud squeak. The smell stung in her nose and she squinted as her eyes adapted to the fluorescent lights. It smelled awful, the perfume of hand sanitizer and blood. Her boots squeaked against the cracked linoleum floors as she hesitantly took another step toward the reception. Looking around she saw what you'd expect at a free clinic in Gotham; homeless men and women with sporadic traces of blood on their clothes, high-strung junkies with barely any clothes on, their feet impatiently jumping up and down. It dawned on her that although she wasn't sporting blood or heroin cheekbones, she didn't stand out from the crowd to her left. She didn't want to be there and turned back at the door she'd entered through.

«Miss?! You need to sign this and sit down.» She spun around to the curly-haired receptionist who shook a paper in her direction. Apparently, she'd been trying to get her attention for a while.

«Uh- no, I'm not a...I'm here to see a friend.» She stuttered and took a step toward her as if she was scared anyone else might hear.

«If your friend isn't in the waiting room, I can't help you.» The receptionist impatiently raised her eyebrows. Her tone suggested she had to deal with disoriented and freaked out people on a daily basis.

Lou cleared her throat and took a step toward her. «No, she works here. Maggie-» The brunette leaned against the counter, exasperated. Again she questioned herself on why exactly she was there in the first place.

«Hey!» Lou turned and saw Maggie come running down the hall in her doctor scrubs, smiling. Her blonde ponytail was waving with her movements as she made her way over in quick steps. Of course, M was in a good mood, always a ray of fucking sunshine. She was such a contrast to her workplace. Everything she witnessed never left a mark on her features. Pessimistically perhaps, Lou couldn't help wonder when that would change. That's why Maggie's antics had always left her with a dull ache in her stomach. No one she had ever come across in that city had such a radiant joy of life; it seemed unnatural in a way. Maybe it was a mixture of jealousy and genuine worry. After knowing her for years, Lou knew it was more luck than the knowledge that kept Maggie's optimistic worldview intact. They were in many ways complete opposites, from their appearances to their philosophies. Much like sisters they fought and almost bickered continuously, but never left each other's sides for long. It wasn't surprising to Lou that Maggie had sought out this situation, starting a clinic in the most dangerous place in Gotham. It would be better if she had gotten a paying job, where her degree would be of use and her student loans would be paid off. Also, she wouldn't have to worry about being violently killed on her way to or from work. Well, more than anywhere else in Gotham.

There weren't even murder statistics in the Narrows as the police had no control over the area. Maggie argued that nowhere in Gotham was safe anyway, and she needed to help people where they were. The latter part was technically accurate, but Lou didn't understand the building blocks to Maggie's idealism. Had Maggie been ditsy and not a hard-working, smart woman, maybe Lou wouldn't be standing in that run-down, makeshift clinic with her. Despite their differences, Lou in her way couldn't help but believe in her. In Maggie as a person, as a friend, but not necessarily in her cause. Lou was merely there to help, not the patients, but her well-meaning friend. Maggie had always had that youthful sense of self-importance that got her through life with a smile. The philosophy that if you want something wrong enough it will happen because you're significant to the world. Lou found it laughable that that thought had made it into the mind of a working-class girl from Gotham and somehow survived a couple of decades. Chewing the side of her mouth, Lou felt worried; Maggie was like one of those wide-eyed people sent to a war-torn village somewhere to help the inhabitants but had no idea what she was in for. The reality of the situation might make or break her, that's the most optimistic thought Lou could conjure as she stood there, seeing the smile on her face. Maggie volunteered to stay there, despite knowing she'd be of use and paid better at an actual hospital. It was almost admirable if it wasn't so naive. Just from entering the clinic, Lou had added another reason for suicide on her list. Maggie, on the other hand, was an eternal idealist and it was infuriating.

«Come on, slowpoke!» Maggie waved her over and took a step down the hall.

«Did you just call me a Pokemon?» she mumbled and scurried over to her.

«Jesus Christ, you reek of cigarettes.» Maggie grimaced when Lou came up to her side. She started walking back the way she came and waved again, wanting Lou to follow.

«Thank you for doing this. I know I'm pretty much forcing you to do free labor, but the more hands we can get the better. We'll get you some scrubs, and I'll teach you the basics.» She winked at her, and they walked down the hall, Lou trying to keep up. Maggie was humming some improvised melody as she walked, again underlining the contrast of herself and her surroundings. It was near sociopathic in a way.

Picking up her pace to catch up with her, Lou mumbled.  
«The basics being what exactly?» She was starting to feel like a surly teenager. They were the same age, but to spectators, Maggie must've looked like her legal guardian.

«Let's start with stitches.» Maggie turned and smiled as she opened the door behind her and stepped in. There was a cot next to a large sink, and there were boxes upon boxes with what she assumed were medical supplies. It looked like something you'd see in a field hospital; she expected to see young men in uniform being carried down the hall. In every sense though, it was a field hospital. She felt a dull sadness creep into her chest. It shouldn't be necessary in a first world country to have to go this these lengths to merely make sure people were getting the medical treatment they needed. Maggie's plan as naive as it was, could entirely be understood and her desire to help, justified. She couldn't help but smirk at the thought that she was living in a first world country, you'd think they would have been officially downgraded by now. Lou stepped in, dropped her bag and shook off her jacket.

Stopping by the sink with a sigh she shook her head and turned to Maggie;  
«I'm not certified or cut out for this. Shouldn't you get some of your medical school buddies to tag along?»

«They weren't too keen.» she shrugged.

Lou couldn't hold back her laugh. «Why not? Throw away a promising career for a lost cause?»

A huff escaped the blonde. «If it's a lost cause what are you doing here?» Maggie crossed her arms with a smirk as she leaned against the wall. Lou held back the number of sarcastic replies that lined up in her head and drew a breath.

 _To see if you can get your shit together and drop the Mother Teresa fantasy._

«Cause _you're_ not a lost cause, you've just got a thing for 'em.» Lou pointed at her with a tight smile.

Shaking her head with a chuckle, Maggie opened one of the cupboards;

«That's sweet, warms my heart,» she said and reached up to get something off the top shelf. A short knock on the door diverted their attention. A tall, blonde man who seemed to be in his early to mid-thirties in the same blue scrubs as Maggie stood in the doorway with a doctors journal and a tired smile on his face. In his right hand, he held a sizeable take-away cup of coffee. Being one of the three actual doctors at the clinic, he probably needed it. Could this be the doctor she had raved about?

Maggie bounced on her feet and waved him in. «Oh, perfect timing!»

The man stepped in, and Maggie walked to stand between Lou and the doctor.  
«Lou, this is Martin. One of the two doctors I manage to persuade to come work with us.»

Martin extended his hand with a friendly smile and Lou shook it with a nod.

Maggie turned to her with a sarcastic smile and added; «Or, as you'd put it, one of the poor souls I persuaded to throw their careers away for a lost cause.»

The attractive doctor folded his arms and raised his brows in an exaggerated manner with a humorous chuckle. «Ouch! Tell us how you feel.»

Maggie let out a heartfelt laugh and threw her head back. Lou threw her hands up in defense. «Okay, okay! At least I'm here, that counts for something.»

Martin nodded with another warm smile. «Absolutely, and we're thankful.» he looked over at Maggie with a playful look as if to say _'Be nice.'_

Looking back at Lou he continued. «I've heard a lot about you; it's good to meet you finally. To say you're needed here is an understatement.»

Maggie nodded furiously. «Yeah, we need as many hands as we can get. If you want we can get you certified real soon-»

Letting out a small laugh, Lou put her hands up again. «You don't have to pitch it to me; I'm already here.»

«I think you've worn her out, Mags.» The other blonde doctor couldn't help but suppress a giggle at the silly nickname. Lou had known Maggie for a while, she knew her family even but had never heard anyone call her Mags. As if Margaret wasn't outdated enough. Looking down at his watch he straightened immediately.

«I'd love to stand here and chat, ladies, but rush hour is about to hit.» he sighed and gestured out to the hallway. After downing what was left of his coffee, he disappeared into the clinic.

Lou turned to Maggie with a smirk. « _Mags?_ »

She sighed at the insinuation. «It's a nickname, settle down.»

«If I called you that I think you'd slap me.»

«Yeah, so don't push it.» she smiled and walked over to the drawers changing the subject.

«By the way, you'll never guess who's coming by later.» Turning around she handed Lou some blue scrubs with a smile that was almost childlike with excitement. What on earth was there to be so excited about in a place like that?

Rolling her eyes, she took the blue fabric and removed her hoodie.  
«Batman?» Lou let out a little chuckle as she put the scrubs on.

«Uh-uh, _Bruce Wayne_.» She answered, adding pressure to each syllable. As if an alarm had gone off in her head Lou turned to her with a confused frown and Maggie nodded while mouthing ' _oh yeah_.'

She stopped for a second, not understanding what was being said. «Uh, why-what? For a _date_ or-?» Lou asked confused.

Maggie snorted. «Are you kidding? That's your first assumption?»

Lou raised her brows and huffed. «Christ, don't take it personally. The fact that he's coming here on his own accord is unlikely enough.»

Maggie sighed and pushed her bangs out of her face. «Yeah, we talked on the phone, and he said he'd like to take a look at the place. That's it.»

Take a look at the place? What would the hell there be for Bruce 'Filthy Rich' Wayne to look at in this part of town? The establishment was not only run-down and filled to the brim with lowly criminals, but it wasn't even legal. This is not something Wayne would like to have on his resume; she knew that much.

«Maybe he's gonna demolish it and put up a hotel or a fancy restaurant. This part of town could use some glamour.» She mumbled as she thoroughly washed her hands.

Maggie let out a loud fake laugh.  
«You're just a big ball of fun.» She smiled sarcastically as she walked out the door and two doors down to check on her patients.

Lou was almost done stitching up her third patient of the night when the low chatter from the waiting room and reception ended abruptly. Maggie had been pacing around the place for the past fifteen minutes, nervously twisting her fingers and muttering to herself. The urge to grab her and tell her to pull her shit together left Lou sitting hunched over her patient with a clenched jaw. Lifting her eyes to see Maggie she immediately looked over at her with big eyes, smiling as she jumped up from her chair and just about bounced out of the room. Lou put her head down and continued with the stitches with a sigh and shook her head. _Here we go._  
Wayne was most likely there to see if it was a decent place to shove some rich-guilt money at and then go back to his mansion to sleep like a baby. What other reason could there be as he didn't want to buy the place? Maggie didn't seem worried about how this whole operation was in fact illegal. Those things had a way of working themselves out, at least, so Maggie thought. How was she going to pitch this illicit clinic to the richest and famous man in Gotham? This is apparently a man who cares about his reputation, what would happen if he became tied to that place? In fairness, he had probably thought about it more than she had. Wayne may be many things, but she didn't take him for an idiot. The whole situation gave her a headache, and she cracked her neck before looking back down and the half-done stitching on her patient's arm. Lou had gotten stitches before but had no idea they were so hard to do. She figured it would be like stitching up a tear in her coat, and now she found it laughable how easy she had expected it to be. The precision needed to let it heal into an okay-looking scar was a skill she had yet to obtain. Looking up at the barely conscious homeless man in the chair, he seemed to be happy merely to have a roof over his head for a few hours. She doubted he would care if the scar looked like shit and it most likely would.

A strained but familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, and she lifted her eyes up to see a grinning and nervous Maggie walk in with a tall and very well-dressed man. A man who needed no introduction.

«Here's Louisa, this is her first shift, and she's doing a marvelous job.» She looked over to see Maggie waving her arm over the unimpressive room and smiling like a pageant queen, clearly nervous next to Bruce Wayne himself. Lou clenched her jaw to keep her from laughing, though the man himself seemed unaffected. He calmly observed the room with the occasional small nod and his hands behind his back like an old-timey gentleman.

Maggie would have to tone that down if they were hoping to get any money out of this, assuming that's why he was there. With his dark features and stoic look, he stood there more than a head taller than her. Lou suppressed a smile; there was no wonder Maggie was so smitten. No wonder all the women of Gotham were smitten. Seeing him in magazines, newspapers and on TV was something, but seeing him stand there was something else. Clearly. Every other man in this town with that much money weren't just unattractive, but they were unattractive scumbags. Not that Lou had much more nice things to say about the guy, but if he was a complete scumbag he was hiding it well. A party boy, perhaps, but at least he appeared to do what he could. No money laundering or political scandal yet, anyway. Bruce Wayne was standing broad shouldered next to Maggie with an interested look on his face when she spoke. Y'know the way you look at someone when you either have no idea what they're saying, or you're pretending you haven't heard it before. As apparent as it was to her, Maggie had yet to see through it.

Lou cleared her throat and nodded when Wayne turned to look at her in the same manner he had just scanned the room.  
«Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne. Forgive the lack of a handshake, but..» She gestured to her bloody gloves and her patient who didn't look much better. His demeanor didn't change, not even slightly. Lou couldn't help but roll her chair back from the patient with a poorly suppressed smirk.

In fact, it was a little comical to her how much they desperately needed the funding, how apparent they lacked the funding and now Bruce Wayne was standing there. The multi-millionaire playboy himself, so ridiculously overdressed. She looked at his shoes, real fancy ones too. Even the shoes were screaming that they were too expensive to tread the floor of this place. The contrast of him and his current surroundings were more than mildly hilarious, in a way like Maggie. She desperately wanted to cut the crap and be honest about the situation. The state of the clinic was the elephant in the room, anybody with functioning eyesight could tell it was terrible. She had to stifle another laugh.

«Oh, that's fine.» He nodded with a tight smile. «I have to say; this is a great initiative. I wasn't sure about the location, but I see it's needed.» He looked around the room and didn't seem as unimpressed as Lou had been when she first walked into the clinic. Though it appeared this wasn't a man who was open and expressive.

«Exactly.» Maggie nodded with her hands clasped in front of her. «Our patients are people who have nowhere else to go, not just because they don't have insurance, but no hospital will take them.»

Wayne nodded, listening to her intently. Lou kept her eyes on him as if blatantly staring at him would unveil the person behind the stoic facade. Maggie opened her mouth to continue, probably wanting to pitch her ideas, but once again he spoke first.

«It's a promising endeavor, Miss Marston. Your professors speak highly of you, I have no doubt you'll make a difference here.»

That's when Lou looked over at Maggie who didn't merely smile; she grinned like a child. This is a girl who lived for recognition and not just the academic kind. The compliment seemed to put her in a state of elated embarrassment.  
«Yeah! It's ambitious, but I have to try. Not to say I wasn't advised against it, but I didn't grow up with wealth and me- I'm not saying you, well you did, but-»

Mr. Wayne, ever the gentleman pretended not to notice how flushed the girl who stood next to him was as she rambled. He was kind enough to interrupt though. «Doctor Cavalieri especially sends his regards. He said he would love to visit but would prefer it if you'd stop by at the university instead. I suspect he doesn't commute down here very often.» he turned to Maggie with a reassuring smile.

«We all have our comfort zones, I guess.» she smiled tightly and stared up at the man Lou was starting to feel sorry for. _Yeah, and you're way out of your own._

Once again he had to save the conversation and abruptly changed the subject. Lou was starting to hurt at the awkwardness psychically.  
«Are you having problems with break-ins?» He looked at them both.

«Well, not, well there's-»Maggie's face went red as she stuttered and looked around as if an answer would come to her.

«I just saw the door.» He nodded back towards the entrance. The locks had been changed so many times, and thieves had pried the doors open at least three times a week according to Maggie. At this point, the door was barely hanging on to its hinges. Of course, they had problems with break-ins, it's a neighborhood issue. It's a city issue.

Lou cleared her throat and turned her chair in their direction. «There are regular break-ins. Mostly in the front, but some at the back entrance, that's where all the supplies are kept. We've replaced and added more locks in the front, but it doesn't do much. It would help to have proper doors installed, if not we'll lose the few supplies we do have.» she gave Maggie a quick look as to say ' _you're welcome_ '.

Wayne nodded again.  
«I'll have someone come by and replace the doors tomorrow morning. If you could give me an inventory list, I could see what you have and add to it.» _Easy-peasy._

There was an awkward pause, and Lou looked back at Maggie with the hope she'd pull it together and get the inventory list. When Maggie finally looked back, she snapped out of it and excused herself. Lou was left there with an unconscious patient and Bruce Wayne, who seemed utterly unaffected. She was stuck somewhere between numbness and bursting out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Again he was kind enough to break the silence, though he seemed to be the least uncomfortable out of the two. Well, three.  
«Ms. Marston has my contact info if there is anything else you might need. I'll set up a monthly plan once I get an overview of the inventory.»

«Yeah, thank you. Maggie will be over the moon.» she smiled back at him with a small nod.

«You've worked together for long?» the question surprised her a little, he didn't seem to be big on small talk.

She couldn't help but let out a small laugh. «No, we met in high school, and somehow she convinced me to help her out here.»

He seemed to relax slightly and dropped the highly formal speech. «Everyone working here have jobs on the side, I assume?»

She leaned back in the chair and let out a breath.  
«Yup, everyone except Maggie. Our receptionist is a middle school teacher, most of the nurses have jobs at the hospitals, the doctors too.» She felt strange talking about the place as if she'd been there for a long time; she had barely even said hello to the others.

«What about you?» he asked, and she looked up at him to see his face had softened somewhat. This guy was hard to pin down.

«Gotham Library. I mostly work in the archives.»

«It must be quite the contrast to this place.» he smiled.

She nodded. «Yeah, there's a lot fewer people and a lot less blood.»

He gave her a friendly smile. «I can imagine.»

After a moment of silence, she felt the need to speak. She didn't know why exactly, Wayne had already made it clear he would help them and didn't need more convincing. Despite that, she felt a need to let him know how sincere the people who worked there were about the place. Maybe help him understand that the money would be of use, to put it mildly. The significant difference between her and the well-dressed man in front of her was money, and she felt as though she had to translate the situation for him.

Breaking the silence, she spoke in a severe tone;  
«I may not share her idealism, Mr. Wayne but Maggie's trying to do some good in a bad city. I'm just here to see she doesn't get hurt.»

His gaze rested on her in a curious, yet understanding manner. «I understand. What you're doing is admirable.» to her surprise he seemed genuine, and the stoic facade had faded for just a minute.

He seemed to hesitate and took a small step closer. «I meant what I said, if you need anything, let me know. Whether it issues with security or more plastic gloves.» Lou looked up at his reassuring smile and nodded back. With that, Maggie came jogging into the room to hand Wayne the inventory list.

«There you go.» she smiled, clearly relieved now that she knew we'd at least have funding. The broad-shouldered billionaire took the list and gave it a quick look over before shaking Maggie's hand, thanking them for their time and excusing himself. The two girls watched him walk out silently.

As the sliding doors movements slowed, Maggie and Lou stared at each other wordlessly in the now hushed room.

«That was fucking weir-» Lou chuckled wiping a strand of dark hair from her face as Maggie let out what can only be described as a roar of relief.

«We're getting money! He's giving us money! Oh my god.» Like the air went out of her Maggie sank to the floor on her knees in a praying position as a light laugh of relief rippled through her.

Lou felt glad for her, knowing they'd never be self-funded it was vital they had someone with means on their team. In a strange turn of events, they now and the funding they needed. She hadn't had many opinions regarding Bruce Wayne before meeting him. It didn't feel unfair to assume he'd be a stuck up kid living off his parent's money; the papers were more than happy to strengthen that assumption. He had surprised her; she could see there was a person in there behind the professionalism and formalities. It was a pleasant surprise, people with old money were usually more reluctant to share it. _Their_ hard-earned money, and all.

* * *

It was her fourth-month volunteering at the clinic. She didn't expect to like it assuming it was a tedious job, but it did more than just keep her busy five or more hours each night. Lou felt more comfortable, more confident. Most likely cause she knew what she was doing at this point. Or she knew the basics.  
The problem of funding was constant. After three checks from Mr. Wayne, he never contacted them again. Lou assumed he was neck deep in supermodels and couldn't care less, though she couldn't help but feel disappointed especially on behalf of Maggie. She was more affected by it, understandably. She wondered if Maggie had even tried to call Wayne's assistant again to ask what was up, but after the first weeks, she saw Maggie's hopes wither. No one with money would waste it on a free clinic anywhere in Gotham, certainly not south of uptown. Mostly because they didn't need free clinics uptown.  
The police came by once a night usually, asking questions about patients. She hadn't expected to see them at all, but a couple of months earlier it seemed they grow the balls to ride down there and hang around the place like bored teenagers. Sleazy pigs who liked to hang around for a few hours just to steal some painkillers and make not such discreet advances at the female staff. She never gave them information about the patients, even though she felt she'd be justified in doing so. Several of their patients weren't merely homeless collateral damage.

As she was standing there thinking about just that, a man came crashing through the doors with blood oozing out the side of his face, screaming for help. Or gurgling more like it. It was evident from his clothes that he was in the mafia. No one else would wear those ridiculous suits. She had half a thought of leaving him outside. Mobsters tended to use them as their private hospital, which meant actual patients stayed away. More deserving patients, you might say. They'd come into the clinic bleeding from stab or gunshot wounds and bribe them off so they wouldn't tell the police, the ones that weren't crooked. She assumed the mafia was more scared of their competition than the police. That was the whole point if they went to the public hospitals the authorities would be notified. Lou assumed the mob had their doctors for these kinds of situations. Maybe they were too pricey, and it was cheaper to throw some cash at them instead. In the beginning, she didn't take the bribes and would tell the police whenever they stopped by, like a good girl. The police officers shockingly turned out to be crooked and left her with a few bruises. So much for optimism.  
That created another problem as it was a clinic and not a hospital, they only had three doctors on staff, and more often than not, the nurses were left to fend for themselves. The first gunshot patient she got was on a relatively quiet night when including the receptionist Debbie; they were only three people at work. The other nurse was in a corner on her phone in a panic, googling how to treat a gunshot wound as the mobster lay groaning in pain on the table. Lou, though the least experienced the lot, at least had one talent; staying calm during stressful situations. If she were by herself, she would have lost her shit, but having another nurse in the room who was worse off than she helped. In the same way, if you're surrounded by resolute people, you end up doing the _thing,_ but you would never have been the first one to volunteer usually.  
Lou and the other nurse managed to save the mans life on pure improvisation. The other nurse had called her Doctor MacGyver, and they laughed as if to cover up the fear that had they not saved the mobster's life, they might have lost theirs.

«Louisa!» Someone shouted and snapped her out of it. She had been staring at the growing pool of blood around the mobster's chubby body. They were short on staff like most nights and Maggie was nowhere to be found. She yelled for someone to call Maggie again and had no choice but to get the man into one of the stalls they had set up and assess the damage. His face was bleeding so fast she couldn't find the wound. He was gurgling and trying to say something about his broken leg.

«We need to sit him up, he'll choke on the blood,» she told the other two wide-eyed helpers as she bent down to put her arms around him, pulling him up from the floor.

After removing his suit jacket and shirt, they saw his damages were limited to the broken leg and the facial wound. Bandages were immediately put on the what they assumed to be the source of the bleeding. This caused him to push against them and wheeze in pain, kicking one of his shoes off in the struggle. His tongue was still intact, another theory to rule out. She carefully removed the bandages on his face and realized his left cheek had been cut through completely. The other two slowly withdrew their hands at the sight and had it not been for the wheezing of the bleeding man; you'd hear a pin drop. She clenched her jaw at the view; she had lost count over how many of those cuts she had stitched up. The mob was under attacked and had been for months. It started with all kinds of injuries until the bleeding smirk became the signature of whoever they had pissed off. Now they were left with the responsibility, and on the mob's eyes, because they were paying us, we were under contract to save each member of their syndicate were they to be brought in.

«Hey, hey! This needs to be stitched. We need a blood transfusion and more bandages.» She looked at the two of them as they scurried off. «And get a hold of Martin!» she shouted after them as the wriggling man kept wriggling.

The man tried to talk, but it came out more of a gurgled whisper. He was in so much pain it looked like he was suffocating, though she knew he wasn't.

«I need you not to talk. You're only making it bleed more, and you might have some muscle damage. I need to stitch it up right away.» She looked at him and spoke with volume. The man struggled as he tried to sit up more and in vain she tried to hold him in a sitting position by pushing his shoulders back.

When she met his deep brown eyes they shone with malice and a big part of her was considering letting him bleed out right there in front of her. She had nothing leftover for the scumbags she had to stitch up every night.

« _Don't fuck it up_.» He spoke with a rough tone, glared back at her with big eyes and before she could react he spat, and on instinct she closed her eyes, feeling her face wet. Splattering blood over her face and torso, he sat back with a weak, pathetic laugh. Having to wipe her face before she could open her eyes, she wanted nothing more than to have the homeless people in the waiting room rub their hands in his wound before she threw him out on the street where he would die slowly of an infection. The fantasy alone was just enough to calm her. Only just.

A good while later, her back and neck ached as she hunched over the man doing the stitches for the second time cause he jumped off the table and tried to hit her, making the stitches rip. She also knew she had to be as thorough and exact as possible, knowing how vain these murderous dickheads were. And that specific dickhead was making in very, very difficult. She couldn't help but understand the motivation of whoever did this to him in the first place.

She was close to bludgeoning him herself.

«This is the last fucking time I'm doing this, you hear? If you fuck this up, I'm sending you home with a stapler.» She glared down at him, and he nodded with a huff.

The whole place was silent as the grave except for the two of them. Lou was feeling as though she was diffusing a bomb, and all the other staff had left as if to save themselves from the blast. She was lucky they had helped her casting his leg, as they bolted as soon as they were done. Not that she could blame them. With a sigh, she pulled the chair closer and started once more with the stitches. The skin was severely damaged, not just from him ripping the stitches. Around the cut, it looked like a torn plastic bag, almost like a burn but not quite. She did the best she could, but it wasn't easy. A good portion of skin had to be cut off, and she feared the scar would stretch the left side of his face. If she didn't know better, she'd say it looked more torn than cut. It wasn't hard to tell that it would scar badly. _Fuck_.  
Rolling back her chair, the wheel got caught in something, and she turns her head down to see what it was. She frowned as she saw the red pattern of what looked like a playing card. Maybe he'd been attacked while playing poker? Bending over she picked it up and turned it curiously. That old-timey design of a jester, shuffling cards while dancing with those weird shoes. She had always liked that card, despite it being the card they had continually left out when playing.  
So why would he have it on him? When she looked up from the card, the mobster was staring, no, _glaring_ at her from his spot. It appeared to be a touchy subject.

Turning the card to him with a deadpan expression; «This yours?»

If looks could kill, she thought as he looked back at her. The man looked at her with a silent fury as if she was mocking him. She was, a little.

Shrugging she got up from the chair, left the blood splattered card on the table by the even bloodier equipment.

«Alright. All done.» the blood-splattered nurse removed her gloves with a sharp exhale and looked back at her patient. The small man didn't look so good, but at least he got the last of their morphine. She assumed there wouldn't be any left after the cops stopped by earlier that night, so she hid the rest. At least the police hadn't gone so far as to search the staff.

She sighed and looked right at the mess of a man on the table in front of her.  
«You're going to have to disinfect that twice a day and-» a nasal voice with a thick accent interrupted her.

«Yeah, yeah, lady. Ya think this the first time he's had a booboo?» a voice laughed arrogantly.

She looked over to see some younger and taller version of the man she'd stitched up with the same 1940's gangster look, standing by the entrance impatiently. With the hat, he was wearing it looked like he was a member of an a capella group that traveled around doing their take on Sinatra songs. She wondered how the hell were they ever taken seriously looking like that. Maybe that's why someone started attacking them. Then again, the Batman looked ridiculous, and most were terrified of him. A grown man. Dressed as a giant bat. With abs.

«Come on, uncle. Let's get you home.» Pushing Lou out of the way he went over and grabbed his uncle. He had to pretty much carry him, cause his uncle not only had a broken leg with a fresh cast but a lot of morphine going through his system. She looked at the pair with a clenched jaw. Embarrassed and livid that she was spending her free time helping high-class criminals live to see another day and watching them walk away as arrogant as always. They made out a large percentage of those who squeeze every cent out of the poor so they can add more to their fortune. There she was, taking _care_ of them.

There was no stopping herself when she felt the annoyance and revulsion make it's way up her throat.

«Make sure he disinfects the _'booboo,'_ or he'll die of an infection,» she added calmly as the two mobsters moved their way toward the exit. The familiar drawn-out silence that followed carried with it a small voice sucking its teeth, saying; _I told you so_. Like lightning, she was thrown down to the blood-specked floor with a hand around her throat. She tried to gasp at the impact, but couldn't.

«Who the _fuck_ are you, huh?!» The young mobsters spat, his face inches from hers. His grip on her throat tightening, clawing at his arms in vain she felt her legs kick on the floor desperately.

«You making threats, _nurse!?_ You have no idea who you're fucking with.» With that, a clenched fist closed in on her face and in a split second, she was out.


	2. Working For The Man

She very slowly came to. Hands were nudging at her sides, voices were murmuring around her. Oh god, here comes the migraine. Opening her eyes and being almost immediately blinded by the sharp lights, she sucked in a sharp breath.

«Okay, okay, I'm alive and well. Fuck off.» she slapped away a hand on her shoulder and sat up, trying to get her vision to stabilize. It wasn't the first time she'd been knocked out cold at work and she was certain it wouldn't be the last. Though the choking was downright unnecessary. She looked around the room and swallowed, feeling her throat tighten and sting.

«She's okay, everyone. She took one for the team.» she looked up to see Martins face with the usual hint of humor presented on his features. He extended his hand and Lou accepted, attempting to get up with some dignity intact.

When she looked up a familiar face came into view.

«What the fuck happened?» Maggie was standing by the entrance of the room putting down boxes of medical equipment. A stack of boxes had been set up by the door, Lou looked at them with a frown. Surely Bruce Wayne hadn't come to the rescue and no one had told her anything about new funds or donations. They were out of money and out of supplies, so where did those boxes come from?

Clearing her throat again Lou nodded at the boxes; «Where'd you get that?»

Maggie shook her head and walked over to her. «Ah-ah, tell me what happened first.» She sighed and came closer to inspect her face and neck.

«An Italian a capella group stopped by,» Lou muttered and slowly moved over to steady herself against a table. Another nurse came up to her and handed Lou a cup of water, which she gratefully accepted.

«Mobsters?» Maggie raised her brows, looking at the others for answers.

«One mobster. The other was immobile.» came from one of the other volunteers. Lou looked over at the other volunteers with a look saying 'thanks for the help.'

«Wow, I'd hate to see what he looks like.» Maggie turned to them and laughed.

«The immobile one didn't look too good. Now, the boxes.» Lou walked over examining them and looking back at her. The others left in the room took their leave.

«From a generous donor,» she said quietly avoiding eye contact as she picked up two of the white boxes and headed toward the storage.

Following her out, Lou wasn't letting it go. Maggie had been acting strange for the past month. Lou assumed it was simply 'cause they were preparing to close the clinic. There was no money, no donations, the mafia was taking over and with them, the philosophy Maggie had built the place on, flickered out. At this point, two-thirds of their patients were members of the mafia. They were more likely to attack staff, as Lou had learned first hand that day, than any homeless junkie. The people they were there to help slowly vanished and were replaced by dirty cops and shoulder pad wearing mobsters. Even the most idealistic of the bunch could see where this was going. Everybody was accepting it. Everyone but Maggie.

Leaning against the door into the storage, she felt uneasy and not just as a result of how much her face hurt.  
«Yesterday we were near closing, and out of the blue this mystery person decided to help us help scum?» Lou raised her eyebrows.

Maggie huffed as she put another box down. «Scum is a strong word. Come on, though. Look at this! This will last us another month at least!» she grinned. As if a month was anything.

She wasn't letting her off the hook. «I don't know where you've been disappearing to the past month, but it needs to stop. Martin has been covering for you as best as he can, but it's taking a toll on him.»

«I've talked to Martin, we've been over it. It's sorted. Especially now!» she motioned to the boxes again.

«And,» she said walking over to the freezer and took out an ice pack, handing it to her. «you need to put some ice on that shiner.» Lou scoffed and accepted the ice reluctantly, knowing Maggie was trying to change the topic.

Shaking her head with a smile, Maggie crossed her arms.  
«No offense, but I'm glad you're looking a little more integrated into this part of town. You used to be terrified of this place.»

Looking back at her with her one eye, she couldn't help but feel an annoyance creep up her chest.

«Integrated, sure. I'm still terrified. I'd be dumb if I weren't.» she smiled at her, but Maggie didn't seem to get the hint. She simply kept putting away the boxes of equipment, the magic boxes that would save them for another month.

* * *

Lou grabbed the bags of bloody bandages from another busy night and headed out back. None of the other volunteers wanted to well, volunteer. It usually ended up being her task to take out the trash. If she hadn't been in for a day or two, they'd just leave the trash next to the back door like a gift for her whenever she'd return. Unlike in most households, they didn't want to go out cause they were scared they'd be killed. Yet they showed up to work at the clinic everyday, go figure. It was this little alley hidden from the streets, but the lights streamed down, giving it the appearance of safety, even as the darkness swept the city.  
It reminded her of the back of this Greek restaurant she used to sit outside of as a kid. It was a few blocks down from where she lived and the only still-running restaurant in the neighborhood. She'd sit out back in the dark just to smell the food, using it as a safe haven whenever her parents were fighting. Even when she was in and out of foster care she'd run all the way over to the same small restaurant, just to sit in the dark and smell the spices. Mint, cinnamon, rosemary. To this day those smells give her a warm sense of happiness.  
One time she was caught by a busboy taking out the trash. Just as she was about to run away, embarrassed, he without a word went back inside and came out with a doggy bag, handing it to her with a kind smile. Even as a kid she felt somewhat rude to keep showing up, as if she was a stray cat they felt forced to feed. She didn't always expect or necessarily need food, but like clockwork almost every night there would be a bag waiting for her or a member of the staff would bring it to her, always with a smile. One time, an older man with a cane opened the door to step outside. She thought that was it, she'd been caught. About to make a run for it, he spoke and asked her to stay in a friendly voice with a thick accent. She turned and saw his face, as friendly as the others. Enthusiastically waving her over as he walked back toward the door, she had followed skeptically. The restaurant was a family owned business and they all lived in the building. They'd seen her hide among the dumpers in the back and probably felt bad for her. Inside she was met with more warmth and friendly faces, as if she was a member of the family. They gathered around her and asked her opinion on the food they'd brought her. Once again they fed her and set out extra tzatziki, they had noticed it was her favorite. The whole family stood around her, all of them talking over each other trying to get her to taste different dishes. She had never experienced anything like that, not even with her real family. Especially not with her real family. The old mans wife, who spoke better English took her hand and asked her to use front entrance from then on, telling her she was welcome any time. Before she left that night they all agreed to find her a job, being that she had an 'immaculate pallet'.

Not many weeks after that there were several explosions in the neighborhood. Mob-related was the rumor anyway. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears and she ran out the door, not even taking the time to put on a jacket. Making her way through the streets filled with confused people walking around in a daze, the place looked like a war zone.  
Running down the chaotic streets as fast as her feet could take her, there were people of all ages walking, running, stumbling around the streets, sot covering their faces. The few police officers who were there could barely understand the situation, much less handle it. Pushing her way forward she came to a halt as she recognized one of the many buildings torn apart and engulfed in flames. The sign above the door was gone, the top two floors of the small building blown off and vicious flames were pouring out of the remaining windows. She felt as she was floating, the shock going through her like cold waves and she couldn't feel the ground under her feet. In her daze, she had made her way toward the building, to the front door she had been told to use. Closing in on the now blackened door, someone grabbed her and carried her away, back to the disoriented mass of soot-covered faces and panic. The sheer amount of screams couldn't drown out the deafening rhythm of her heartbeat.  
There were no survivors. The Russians goal was accomplished, and on that soot-covered street among the rubble, thirteen-year-old Louisa Murphy's heart broke.

Clenching her jaw at the memories, she stepped out on the squeaky metal stairs. It was her little sanctuary. It wasn't pretty, but it was a small piece of a big story. It smelled more like piss and garbage than cinnamon and mint, but she took what she could get. She always had.  
Standing out there thinking was the closest she got to understanding where Maggie was coming from. Lou had seen first hand that there were good people in bad parts of that wretched city. She understood the desire to help them. If only they were helping the good people. Those in _need_ of help.  
In contrast to the others Lou saw the spot out back as a golden opportunity for a cigarette and contemplation. If she had a proper lunch or dinner break, she'd probably spend it there too. The black eye she'd been given by the hat wearing mobster had swollen much more than she had expected. Guess the suit wearing fucker hadn't held back. As she stood outside on the stairs she wondered what the hell was really going on with the mobs. It was the one subject that made everyone at the clinic tense up. She assumed some shit was going down between the mobs, but then she'd hear the cops talk about it. She had made a habit of eves dropping whenever they came over. Complete scumbags, but great sources of intel.

Lighting a cigarette, she took a deep drag and enjoyed the silence. She never thought she'd be in a caring profession. In fact, she'd actively avoided it. After high school it seemed like most of her classmates went for those kinds of jobs, but she like any stereotypical 'alternative girl' got a degree in history and philosophy. She got a job at the library, a job she still has, but managing her two jobs meant minimal time to sleep. Her monthly paycheck was just enough to cover the rent and at this point she had to prioritize the money, even Maggie would understand that. Most of the work she did at the library was in the archives, after working there for a few years she didn't like the reading hall much. She had gotten used to the crammed and lonely rooms in the basement. She liked it there. The dim lights, the smell of the old books, the silence occasionally being interrupted by the turning of pages. Despite being in the middle of Gotham it felt like a small safe haven. Here she was now, a certified nurse, exhausted, covered in blood and sporting a developing black eye. She looked up at the sky and let out a laugh. So much for safety.

« _Louisa Murphy?_ » a dark voice spoke and made her jump and crash into a dumpster. She lost her footing and ended up ass first into a puddle.

« _We need to talk_.» he continued, but she was struggling to get up from the cold puddle and couldn't see anything or anyone.

«What the fuck?» she exclaimed confused as she got up from the wet ground. Squinting, trying to peer into the darkness she saw nothing. Assuming it was something she had imagined she tried to shake off the paranoia. Letting out a frustrated breath she shook her head and went to head inside. Looking down at her trousers, they were soaked. A sharp sound behind her made her do a quick turn as she had reached the stairs. She had to do a double take before she could even begin to understand what she was seeing. Her mind went blank and she couldn't do anything but merely stand there, staring. She hadn't registered it, but he had spoken again.

« _There's not much time,_ » he spoke again, and this time she caught it.

«Holy shit,» she whispered. He's standing right there. Brooding in a costume. Though she saw he was standing there, a part of her thought it must be some copycat running around, trying to save the Narrows. Like Maggie, but with a ridiculous costume. His voice wasn't as scary as it was just excessive, she would have laughed if it weren't for the shock. She wasn't completely sure it was really happening until he spoke again.

« _Your friend, she needs to be more careful_.» he took one more step toward her. What the hell. Didn't he have more important things to do than babysit some girls?

«Careful? Have you seen where we work?» Lou laughed though it came out as a frustrated huff and threw her arms out, motioning to the clinic.

Completely unaffected, like a robot he continued.  
« _She's made a deal with the Russians. She gives them information about Maroni and his men in return for money and medical supplies_ ,» he explained.

She steadied herself on the railings as the words sank it. It was far from unbelievable, but it hit her like a ton of bricks. Whatever she thought was going on, this was so, so much worse. Like running through a maze, she was desperately trying to see a way out. How the hell did Maggie do all that? Just casually go and have meetings with Russian mobsters and come back smiling? She almost respected her for that, if it weren't such a terrible fucking idea. So this was Maggie's way of keeping the clinic going. Getting involved with mobsters so we can keep treating mobsters.

Grimacing in confusion, trying to understand how bad this was, she spoke.  
«So if she stops going to the Russians they'll come after us. If she keeps going, Maroni and his entourage of shit stains will find out. We're fucked.» She threw her hands out but her audience had vanished. Lou looked around, but nothing. He wouldn't just leave, would he? Wasn't he supposed to be the ultimate good guy?  
She groaned, actually hoping he'd come back. Did he come there to point out a problem, leave before giving her a solution to it?

«Asshole!» she shouted into the empty space. She found herself become livid. He's the crime fighter in a weird costume, they work at a medical clinic. One of them has a philosophy degree, that'll terrify the hardened criminals. She marched over to the door and flung it open, stomping inside. With a black eye, still covered in blood splatter and now drenched in mud she walked through the storage and out into the clinic looking for the blonde doctor.

A hand on her arm stopped her. «Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?» Martin stepped into her path with furrowed brows. _Not_ _that_ _blonde doctor._

Pushing past him she bit out; «I have no idea.»

Barging into the surgery, she saw Maggie helping a patient up from the examination table. Stomping over to her she felt her heart thump in her chest.

Motioning for Maggie to hurry, her breathing was coming in quick.  
«Finish up, 'cause we gotta talk.» She said rushed, trying to keep her composure as if she let herself speak more she'd start screaming. Maggie looked at her with big eyes, a look that said she might just know what the fuzz is about. Just like a kid caught with her hand in the damn cookie jar.  
Lou turned and headed back to the storage room, passing some of the confused staff in the hall. Before long, Maggie came running after. The look on her face told her she already had an explanation ready.

As soon as the heavy door closed, Lou let it out.  
«What the fuck, Maggie? _What the fuck?!_ »

«Russians?! How did you just stumble upon a deal with the Russians?!» Lou looked at her in disbelief, still silently pleading for this all to be hallucinations as a result of a really long day. Maybe she hadn't woken up yet and this was merely a mobster induced nightmare.

«I know, it's not ideal, but where else were we to get the money? If we just keep doing what we do-» It sounded like a well-rehearsed speech which only angered her more. Lou caught the desperate look on her face. Not ideal? She couldn't stand up straight anymore, she was scared her legs would fail solely out of rage.

Waving her arms, practically begging her to stop talking she shook her head with a disapproving sound.  
«Stop talking. I can't listen to this.» She sighed and sat down on against the wall. The frustration, fear, and anger she felt were overwhelming.

«Had I known you'd take it this far. Oh my god.» Lou groaned and buried her head in her hands. «Does your naivety have no fucking limits?»

She still looked at her with an annoyingly calm demeanor; it had to be a mask. She hoped it was. That would mean there was a chance, a small chance they might make it out of this.  
«I've got in under-»

«Don't say it!» Lou shouted, her throat still sore from the attack. «You don't understand the meaning of the word 'control'.»

Sitting up and looking right at her, Lou kept going. «You should have let this place go, we were all ready to let this place go! You've put all of us in danger, we're all fucked. How the hell are you going to explain this to them?!» she said, pointing at the door.

Not getting any response from the tired-looking blonde, Lou felt her voice go hoarse. «You're not a one-woman-show! These people followed you, they _trust_ you!»

Maggie looked at her and to the door and back at her. Lou saw the panic start to show and Maggie started pacing the room. Lou had been convinced she'd feel better if Maggie even slightly acknowledged the situation, it would mean she understood how bad the situation was and wasn't clinging on to her precious god damn beliefs. Though seeing her pace the floor, mumbling to herself only made Lou feel more lost. Maybe she had thought to confront Maggie would make her push a fix-it button she had saved for just this situation and everything would be fine. Turns out they were both naive.

Running her hands through her hair, Maggie rambled. «I'll talk to them and say I'm out. I'll fix it; it's not that bad.»

Lou stared at her in disbelief from her spot on the floor. She could barely find the words to say; she couldn't understand how they were in this situation, she couldn't understand how Maggie had done this to all of them.  
«How has it just hit you that you put us in the middle of a fucking mob-war? I just had a visit from the Batman, who told me about your deal-»

Maggie stopped in her tracks and looked at her with a frown. Her voice was weak as if she was about to cry.  
« _Batman?_ You talked to the Batman?»

She nodded with a shrug. Just the thought of it made her want to laugh if she wasn't so damn terrified.

«He said you had to be careful and then he bailed, a really helpful guy that one.» Lou rested her face in her hands. This was her problem too now, she wanted as far away from the mob as she could get. Just stepping foot in the Narrows was bad enough for her and now she was living her worst nightmare.

«When a grown man dressed as a ripped _bat_ is giving me career advice, shit has hit the fan. You can't back out of the deal with the Russians for obvious reasons, but if Maroni finds out, we're dead. Now, do you know how many of Maroni's men I stitch up on a weekly basis?» Lou looked up at Maggie who was probably thinking about the rhetorical question and hopefully not finding it soothing.

Maggie bit her lip and nodded. «I get it, but I've made it work so far. This is the reality of the city we live in, you do what you gotta do. You're being pessimistic about this-»

Lou got up from the floor in a flash and heard her voice go up an octave.  
«Pessimistic?! Listen to yourself! You're fucking delusional!»

«Keep your voice down!» Maggie hushed her and gestured to the door.

«How can this clinic be that important to you still? We get money from mobsters to rat on the mobsters we treat. How is this making the city a better place? How does this fit into your philosophy?» Lou calmed her voice.

Maggie took two steps closer and spoke in a harsh whisper.  
«You know, just cause you were fucked over bad once doesn't mean you get to project that shit on to me and everyone else on the planet!» Maggie hissed.

Looking at her in disbelief Lou drew a breath and spoke calmly. «What the fuck are you talking about?»

Trying to soften her look and her voice, Maggie hesitated. Like a child losing an argument but refusing to stop talking.  
«I know you use it as a justification for hating everything and everyone, but that's not how the world works! When you were attack-» Lou shoved her against the wall before Maggie could finish the rest of the sentence or even react.

Her eyes burned, and she tried to control her erratic breathing as she looked into Maggie's eyes.  
«You don't get to use what happened to me as an excuse to feel better about your own mistakes. I've been fucked over my whole life, I'm being fucked over right now. I know who I am, I know what mistakes I've made. This is on you, don't ever fucking bring that up again.» she spat and let her go. Maggie stumbled back and raised her arms, her version of a white flag. She stood still and quiet, moments passed without any of them saying a word.

Maggie took a shaky breath and nodded, acknowledging she crossed the line. Lou stepped back and did the same.

«Okay, the two of us just stay out of here for a few days, a week at the most. I'll leave Martin in charge, he'll do fine. You still work at the library?» She was trying to calm herself, though all she did was go back to her rambling.

«That's not gonna fix anythi-» Lou grimaced.

Maggie lifted her hands and kept talking.  
«Just, go there, and I'll stay out of here too. I need to come up with a plan.»

Lou waved her hands in a protest. «No, no, no! That is not a plan; we need to include Martin in this-»

«There's no need!» Maggie just about whined.

«Of course there is! He's invested a lot in this, we have a responsibility to tell him. Just like you had a responsibility to tell me! Whether you tell us or not, you've already included all of us in this mess.» Lou looked at her pleadingly. _Please, see reason. Please._

The air went out of Maggie and only then could Lou see the tired circles around her eyes and her blonde hair strewn over her shoulders, free from the usual ponytail. As angry as she was she still felt the need to protect the girl in front of her, mostly from herself. How did she get herself into this mess? How did the girl she was looking at, the girl she knew, strike up a conversation with Russian mobsters? She was supposed to be the leader of this group, not trying to sabotage it.

Letting out a sigh, Lou softened her tone. «Christ, Maggie. Have you been running around doing this by yourself?»

Maggie had a blank look on her face. «I was-I was desperate. Everyone else had settled on closing the clinic. One of the Russians came to my apartment, told me they'd take care of everything if we- If _I_ kept tabs on Maroni's guys. If I declined, they'd send them a tip saying I had ratted them out anyway.»

Lou tried to take everything in, the whole day had seemed like a week. Moving toward the door she turned to Maggie with a pit in her stomach. The golden-haired beauty now slumped down on the floor was stubborn. So stubborn, Lou feared she would rather die than let the clinic end it's life the way it should. She needed to make sure they were clear on the basics.

She spoke up. «This isn't a request. Tell Martin everything, don't do anything stupid. We're staying put 'till we figure this out. If we run, we leave a lot of good people behind. Protecting good people is what started this clinic, keep that in mind.»

Maggie sat there on the floor with the same blank expression. During the time she'd known her, Lou could count on one hand the times she'd seen her like that.

«I don't trust you much right now, but I need you to tell me you understand. When I come back, you'll be here too.» she continued, needing to see Maggie agree with the make-shift plan.

The blonde swallowed and looked up at her, clearing her throat. «Yeah, I'll stay put.»

Despite the shit show the day had been, all Lou wanted was to go home, take a shower and sleep. For a few hours at least, 'till she had to go to her other job. The one that paid the rent and didn't beat her up in more ways than one. She looked back at Maggie and nodded before leaving the storage room and leaving the Narrows.

* * *

It was her third day without the clinic. Working those eight-hour shifts at the library seemed like nothing now that she didn't have to work half the night at the clinic. All she could do was go home to her minuscule apartment and just stay there. She'd go back in a couple of days, but couldn't help but feel reluctant now that shit had hit the fan. Was this how her life used to be? She'd always avoided the caring professions, but with the clinic at least there was adrenaline and she was justified in despising her patients. It was perfect. The Russian/Maroni situation was constantly on her mind; she couldn't relax anywhere. Not even in the warm embrace of the library archives. The more she thought about it, the more she realized they were short on time. Tensions between Maroni and the Russians were at an all time high. Maroni's men were in and out of the clinic almost daily, sometimes just using it for hangouts. It was only a question of time before they figured it out, she was surprised it was taking them that long. She sat back and sighed. Sitting in the archives biting on the end of a pencil, something in her was a little heartbroken about the clinics unavoidable and untimely demise. It hadn't happened yet, but again; it was only a matter of time. She knew that despite herself, Maggie would instead go down with it than watch it burn. What good would she do dead? All of Maggies ambitious, stupid plans were always short term, and her gullible execution of said plans was doomed to fail. Improvising is hard in a city as unforgiving as Gotham. Her pencil rolled off the table and onto the floor, as she went to pick it up, she saw her hand shaking. Maybe this was affecting her more than she thought?

« _'Scuse me, miss?_ » a voice from behind her spoke, startling her. No, it scared the shit out of her.

She quickly turned around in her chair and saw a tall man, in his mid-twenties, though he might be older. Long black coat with a formal grey shirt, taking a quick look down at his feet she saw he was wearing heavy black boots, much like her own. He was seemingly unaffected by how much he'd scared her and simply stood there, towering over her. The lights down there were always low, so not to damage old documents. It made it a little hard to really see what he looked like, she had first assumed he was one of Maroni's men sent there to cut her days short. Or maybe, in a turn of events, he was with the Russians.

The man spoke again in a slow, vibrating tone. «I'm looking for some, _uh_ , documents.» He had a low voice, not unpleasant; he merely sounded bored. She certainly was not.

«Documents?» she quipped confused. If he was there to pop her, he was taking his time, or using the wrong metaphor. She hoped he couldn't hear how loud and fast her heart was beating, though her fear had to be evident.

«I assume this is the city library?» His voice rumbled impatiently as if he'd prefer to do this himself. An unexpected nervous laugh escaped her.

«Uh-yeah, that's true. You need newspaper archives, specific historical documents or..?» She stumbled through the sentence, still not convinced he wasn't there to kill her. In the almost five years she'd worked there, very rarely did anyone but professors from the university come down there. Students and the general public stayed up in the library if they ever needed anything she was sent for. She had never experienced a member of the public showing up in her dark little corner of the archives. Suddenly a strange man that definitely wasn't a professor shows up, the timing was suspicious.

«I need,» he took a deep breath of air and took a step forward, « _building plans_.» She nodded slowly expecting him to continue, to specify. When the silence stretched out, she fumbled with her words.

«What buildings?» she spoke again, trying to straighten up her posture and talk clearly, she didn't feel right about this.

«All the big ones,» he said lowly, he made a strange sound with his mouth as if he was chewing gum.

 _Okay, weirdo._ «Alright.» She took a deep breath and got up from her chair, her legs a little unsteady. Walking over to the architect section where they had a wide selection of public building plans. The Opera Hall, Gotham Center, Gotham Superior Court, Gotham mall, she took out everything she could find. There were many, as there were many 'big buildings' in the city. Trying not to look like an idiot with the old rolls stacked up in her arms like firewood, she laid the rolls out on the table behind her neatly. The man walked up next to her and nodded to himself, staring at them intently with an intense gaze. Picking up one roll he put it in a bag he procured out of nowhere.

She felt the panic rise and looked around as if an adult would take over.  
«No, no, I'm sorry, but you can't take those with you.» She said hurriedly, she'd lose her job if he walked out of there with those papers. What would she say? 'Yeah, I gave them to him'?

He looked down at her, and for the first time, she could see his eyes properly. They were a very dark brown color; she'd never seen anything like it before in her life. Looking farther down his face she saw scars. Rough scars stretching from the corners of his mouth up to his cheeks. Without being able to keep herself still, she in pure shock stumbled back a few steps and hit a chair, causing it to protest loudly. She held her breath to keep her from gasping or saying something stupid. Scars just like the patients she'd had over the past couple of months would have. She had stitched them up herself. His injuries were older though; he couldn't have been a victim of the recent attacks. Also, he didn't look like he was in the mob. What if he was one of Maroni's men, though? It seemed the most likely truth at that point. Before she could ponder over his scars more, he interrupted her thoughts by coming closer. She tried her best not to flinch, though all she wanted was to let him have the damn building plans so he'd leave her alone.

He seemed to enjoy making her feel the way she did, it couldn't be the first time someone reacted to his scars. He sucked at the scarred corner of his mouth and his eyes all but glared at her, almost humorously. With slow steps he moved closer to her, trapping her where she stood. So close, she could smell him. A strange perfume of coffee and something else she couldn't quite pin down. Desperate to escape the situation, she turned her face away, avoiding his stare. The low melody of his voice seemed to vibrate through the air menacingly.

He broke the uncomfortable silence with a sentence that did anything but alleviate the tension.

«What's stopping me from strolling out of here with those documents, _hm_?» he turned his head to the side, it was a rhetorical question. He didn't seem to expect an answer. She certainly couldn't stop him and there was minimal security except for the metal detectors by all the entrances and-

«There are security cameras.» she said quickly, though her voice was raspy from fear and she didn't exactly ooze of authority. Having no idea what to say to convince him and she did her best not to stare down at the floor to avoid his let out a short laugh and seemed truly humored by her response.

«' _There are security cameras_ '» He mumbled more to himself than her as he shook his head with a smile. Well, she assumed it was a smile. All she could do was stand there and wait, wait for him to take the papers and leave. Internally begging that he would do just that, she stood frozen.

Turning back to stare at her again, he spoke. He didn't seem to _look_ , he only stared. The kind of stare that suggested to her he could read her mind.  
«What's your name, loyal librarian?» he raised his eyebrows at her.

«Lou,» she said shortly and looked back at him. It struck her that he was somewhat handsome, though absolutely not according to typical beauty standards. She had to deal with ugly scumbags every day, maybe this was one of the prettier ones. She scoffed at how that thought had passed through her head. _Prettier ones?_ She had to steady her breathing looking up at those eyes, scared he'd heard her panicked train of thought. Though she ridiculed herself for finding him somewhat attractive, she wasn't completely wrong. The deep brown eyes, strong facial structure, the kind you'd see on typically handsome men, but he carried it differently. He carried it better. It only added to her nervousness. A strangely handsome guy or an assassin, both equally terrifying to her. Had anyone else come down there and done that she would've been livid. Maybe this whole mobster nightmare had thrown her off.

The response she got was a deadpan stare. «What's your _full_ name, Lou?» He said her name as if he thought she had made it up; he made it sound terrible. As if it disgusted him even to utter it.

«Louisa Murphy.» She clenched her jaw but looked back at him. He abruptly took a step back, and she felt her body relax just enough to take a deep breath. Staring down at the floor with unfocused eyes, he mumbled quietly to himself, always with a playful half-smile on his face.

«Don't call yourself _Lou_ , it really doesn't suit you.» He snorted and walked over to the rolls of documents on the table and sat down. With that, apparently, she was dismissed. She stood still as if she wasn't sure she was allowed to move, watching him take out the drawings of some building and study them intensely.  
 _Okay, he's not here to kill me. Do I go back to work?  
_ Unsure of what to do she sat down at her work desk and tried to keep working. There wasn't much to do that day so until he showed up she had daydreamed and taken a nap. Christ, she had a degree and this is how she spent her days. The barely legal clinic had more use of her. He sat no more than six feet away and she tried to act normal. Her body was still in a state of shock and she had to clench her fists to keep them from shaking. She quietly went through the papers on her desk repeatedly, trying to keep herself busy as he didn't seem to mind her being there. Too scared to make any sound or move, she simply pretended to be very interested in the papers in front of her. There was a stack of papers right behind him that she had put there before he appeared, finished work she needed to hand over to her boss. Gulping she looked at them she realized they wouldn't be moved until he left. Whatever he wanted those building plans and documents for, she didn't want to know. Her assumption that something bad would happen because of this, felt pretty damn certain. At that moment, she really couldn't care less. In a city where crime rates were through the roof and if you weren't upper class and sheltered, terrible things were going to happen to you. It was a simple truth that was hard to swallow. Occasionally, some idealistic DA's, politicians, police officers even, would appear and try to fix the city as if it could be done. The city was an old house with a rotting foundation. The few good people that were left should have packed their bags long ago and sought a happy life somewhere else. Looking up at the old watch on the wall, over an hour had gone by.

«Murphy?» she took a sharp breath and looked up to see the stranger looking back at her. To her surprise, she couldn't help but laugh wholeheartedly at the name.

«Oh, but you think _Lou_ is a good name,» he smirked back and sat down opposite her. She was starting to agree with him regarding her nickname. It wasn't like she had chosen it herself, though.

«No one's called me Murphy since middle school, that's all.» she laughed, it seemed to cover up how uncomfortable he made her.

«You should bring it back,» he said merely, smacking his lips.

«What's with the shiner? Someone else try to steal the papers?» he asked, pointing at her black eye. So they were making jokes now? Just as he mentioned her eye, her hand immediately went up to it, just to check. It was still fresh so still swollen, she knew it would take weeks for it to heal completely. She still couldn't open her eye properly. Despite that, she kept forgetting it was there. It wasn't like she spent too much time around mirrors, anyway.

«Oh, work hazard.» she waved it off like nothing. She had told her boss she got mugged, that earned her a few sympathy points.

«Tsk tsk tsk, must've been one heavy book.» he kept his eyes on her as if he read through her without trying. This guy was strange.

She played along. «Dante's Inferno. Slippery fucker,» she said causing him to grin widely as if impressed, before suddenly serious, he looked at her with a glazed look.

«Didn't think this line of work was that...hazardous,» he mumbled, nibbling at the side of his mouth. Was he making threats? Or insinuating something? This was a roller coaster.

«Do you work tomorrow?» he asked casually before she could say anything, abruptly getting up from the chair and looking around the room as if he had just walked in.

«Yeah-» she said hesitantly, this guy was a whirlwind.

«Good, that's.. _good_.» he seemed to say it more to himself. Had she just made an appointment with this guy? Before she could ask why he went up the large stairs in a few quick strides and off he went. The building plans still on the table where he left them.


	3. Delivery

Walking down the now familiar streets she yawned, wishing she could only go back home and sleep. It was too damn early and too damn cold, but Maggie and Martin decided this would be the best time to talk. They had spoken, quite a lot over the past few of weeks and yet they were still without a plan. She figured as long as Maggie stuck to the deal and didn't disappear, they'd be alright at least for the time being. Though the urge to run away was intense, she stayed put. Life hadn't exactly been a party since that talk she had with the Batman. Nothing had happened yet, but she felt she could feel the rumble of a tidal wave about to hit. Her stomach was continuously in knots, and whenever one of Maroni's men entered the clinic, she had to do her very best to appear calm. There seemed to be more and more of the mobsters, or maybe it was just her fear pointing out what was already there. She felt like a fucking idiot for provoking them as she had when she earned her black eye. Now she kept her mouth shut and did her job, hoping none of her suit-wearing patients would notice her or how thoroughly uneasy she felt.

She unlocked the door to the clinic and hurried inside, hoping for some warmth. However, it was just as cold inside, and she pulled her coat tighter around her as her breath came out like steam from her lips. The place was so quiet; it was eerie. Like something out of a post-apocalyptic film. Most of the nurses that worked there had night shifts at whatever hospital they worked at, so they were given the mid-day shifts. Lou always got the night shifts, something she had always had mixed feelings about, but now she was far from happy about it. The clinic was closed from five to eight in the morning, and she had never been there during those three empty hours. The darkness only interrupted by the sporadic blue lights of early morning. So this is what it'll look like when they leave. The cold and dust will take over, and it'll be just like every other building on the block, deserted and left to be taken over by the elements. Her boots made loud echoing thuds against the floor as she made her way farther into the surgery. Pushing the swing door open, she sighed as she stepped in.

«Sorry, I overslept,» she mumbled. Looking over at the other two she felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

«Good thing one of us can sleep.» Martin looked over at her with a strained smile, clearly meant to be reassuring, but it had the opposite effect. He looked worse than she did, 'tired' couldn't begin to describe the look on his face. This ordeal had taken its toll on all of them, it seemed. He was a lot like Maggie, which is probably how she managed to get him to join the clinic in the first place, though he had a more controlled sense of optimism. Possibly because he had more experience than any of them. Maggie was the 'brains' behind the project, for the lack of a better word, but Martin was the leader. Seeing him this worried and she would assume, scared, strengthened her fear. If he thought they were fucked, they were.

«There's coffee if you want it.» She turned her attention to a disheveled Maggie, who nodded at a sizeable to-go cup of coffee on the counter next to her. She looked frazzled, her eyes sunken and she stood a few feet away from Martin, fidgeting with the chewed top of her coffee cup. The room was so tense Lou didn't know exactly what to focus her attention on.

Taking the coffee she came closer, bracing herself; «I don't need to read the room to know somethings up.» she said carefully.

Martin cleared his throat and wiped a hand over his face with a sharp breath. «Maggie cut contact with the Russians.»

The room went very quiet, and she let the words wash over her. A flood of questions hit her next, and she didn't know where to begin, assuming she had even understood what Martin said. Lou felt her brows knit together in confusion and anxiously changed her footing.

«The deals off, then? Is this bad news?»

«No, she-» he took a deep breath and steadied himself, he was struggling. Even now he was trying to be the diplomat, the steady rock they had clung to since the clinic opened. «She just stopped talking to them.»

She took a step back as if he had just slapped her.

«So-so, this is the opposite of what we agreed.» she fumbled looking back and forth between Martin and Maggie. The silence was deafening, and she understood that she was the one lagging behind, the other two had already gone over it.

The lack of any response from the two in front of her made the panic rise in her chest. They stood there resolute as if that was it; there was nothing else to do.

«No, we agreed to stay put and to stick to the damn deal! How long has this been going on?» she tried to shout, but her voice came out weak. _Good morning, Lou._

She looked to Maggie, in shock. She kept her glazed eyes glued to the floor and still picked at the top of her coffee cup wordlessly.

«Maggie, what the fuck?!» this time she did shout and immediately felt Martins hands on her arms, steadying her. Maggie was standing there like some teenager waiting to be reprimanded.

She heard Martin speak next to her, much more calmly, the same voice she had heard many times when they were working.  
«Hey, she's going to contact them. We've been over it, and we agree.»

«Like we agreed not to do exactly what she did?» she said it more to Maggie than him. She kept looking at her as if she would explain herself or say _something_. Maggie spoke before she could.

For the first time that morning, Maggie looked at her.  
«They've been following Martin. Leaving notes and making threats.» her voice was raw, and she cleared her throat. «I have to sort it out; I was panicking, I'm sorry. I have Maroni's guys in and out of her; I was losing it.»

Lou looked at Martin who nodded, grimly. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Why the hell would Maggie cut contact? Did she expect them just to shrug and walk away? She had to have been panicked, like the other two, as the whole staff. The fear crept back up her spine, and she had a hard time controlling it. As hard as she tried, she couldn't see a happy ending to this. They were stuck between the two most powerful gangs in the city, and the odds were not in their favor, it had never been. Despite the cold, she felt her hands sweat and felt as though she was going to be sick. They were all in an equally sad state, and if she lost it, she feared the rest would too.

Again Martins' voice cut through the tension. «The cops have been talking.» he sighed and leaned on to the counter behind him.

«And? That's all they do.» Lou narrowed her eyes at him, hoping for some good news.

«The attacks on the mob, the _slashings_ ,» he said in a voice laced with lack of sleep. «The guy who did it left behind deliberate clues and maybe a name.»

Lou straightened her back and waved her hands dismissively; this was a waste of time. «Unless it's someone from one of the gangs, I don't care-»

Maggie interrupted, suddenly alert. « _A name?_ »

«Yeah, well, an alias, I guess.» he sighed.

Lou took a step forward, wanting to get back to the urgent business they were there to discuss. The fact they were all in danger of being killed didn't seem to be as critical of a problem to them.

«If he were cutting up our staff, I'd understand the concern, but I don't see how this has anything to do with us _or_ our current situation.»

Martin shrugged, adding one more fun fact. «He left playing cards on the scene. Like a signature, according to the cops.»

Something clicked for her then. Mulling the word over in her head, 'playing cards.' The small, chubby mobster with the nasty spitting habit. It was like a light bulb when on for Lou, and she snapped out of it. Putting the coffee down on the counter she hurriedly went through the room, hoping to find what she was looking for. She knew she left it _somewhere_.

«Uh, Lou?» she heard Martin ask, confused as she quickly went through a few drawers. Her hand brushed against something smooth, she fished it out of the drawers and peeked her head up from the counter.

«Joker cards, right?»

Martin looked at her confused. «Yeah, how'd you know?»

Sliding the zip-lock back with the still bloody card in it down the counter, the other two's eyes grew big.  
«One of the mobsters I treated for the cut, a card fell from his suit. He didn't seem to happy about the card, so I guess the story checks out.»

Maggie chimed in. «So he's what? The Jester..? The Joker?»

Still looking down at the card, Lou felt little relief or fascination. A sarcastic and downright manic laugh escaped her. The two confused, blonde doctors' attention quickly turned to her. «More vigilantes with weird nicknames, this is fucking great! Hey, let's hope he has a costume and takes orders. We could put in one to have the Russians taken out.»

Martin sighed and crossed his arms, apparently not feeling the sarcasm. «I wouldn't go as far as calling him a vigilante; I don't know if this guy takes sides. I think this will be more of a problem than a solution for us.»

She wasn't expecting the meeting to be a pep-talk or reassuring in any way, but this was downright catastrophic. Groaning, she wiped a hand over her face and felt the panic rise again.  
«Yay us, huh? We can't stay here; we can't leave. There's a weirdo handing us patients and the Russians are breathing down our necks.»

Maggie groaned. «You're not getting any points by pointing out the obvious, Lou.»

Lou turned to her, shaking the bag with the playing card that before would have seemed like a harmless piece of paper.  
«What the fuck am I supposed to say to all of this?!»

Maggie threw her arms out. «You're saying what we all know! If we're all thinking it, there's no reason to fucking say it!»

At that point, Martin stepped between them and tried to calm things down. «Okay, okay, okay! Let's put this stuff aside and focus on what to do next.»

Maggie huffed and took a step back, moving her hair off out of her face. Lou felt her pulse beat loudly in her ears and looked back at Martin. As if he'd say something wise that would solve this whole shit show. It's strange how in dangerous situations, where you're gripped with panic, you look to the calmest, most controlled person you can find, and it helps you trivialize the case to the point where you almost relax. Too many times she had caught herself thinking; 'Surely it can't be that bad, look at Martin.'

After they had all calmed down enough to talk without shouting, they had agreed to stick to the plan. Maggie would speak to the Russians, clear everything out and they'd be back to the comfort of their original problem. The one that would likely get them killed. That alone being any kind of support at that point, enraged Lou. She knew she was a pain in the ass with her sarcastic commentary, but it was a mere result of the other two seem to honestly not understand how bad the situation was. The fact that they were back to being stuck between the top mobs in the city shouldn't in any way be a fucking relief. She had realized the time and grabbed the now cold coffee and had to run to work, the one that paid her rent. She had an 8 am meeting with her boss that she didn't look forward to, but it could not possibly be worse than the meeting she had just had.  
She made it in time and pulled the heavy door open to find the vast library very empty as it was most mornings. She preferred to use the entrance to the archives, on the other side of the building, it let her get to and from work without having to chit-chat or bump into her boss. If anybody needed her, they knew where to find her. However, she wasn't going straight to the archives that morning. As the door closed behind her, she looked up at the tall windows and the rays of light that came through them. It was beautiful in a way, the lights streaming in, almost like in a church. Of course, any moment she spent out of the Narrows was a damn blessing. Catching her breath, she made her way toward the office. They, meaning her boss, had ordered a lot of antique papers and books for the archives but hadn't taken account of the cramped space. Lou was struggling to go through what they already had including the boxes that had been delivered the week before. Apparently, it was hard for some to understand you need to make space for the things you have before you get more things. They had had many of those 'almost fights' where Lou found it hard to keep her mouth shut. The kind of fights you have with other girls where no one's voice is raised or name calling is used, but you both know what you want to say. Lou didn't see the point in hoarding all that stuff as if it was the national gallery. It seemed her boss just wanted to the largest and most extensive collection in town, had her boss been a guy Lou would assume it was some form of compensation. Her boss was one of those dismissive people who when giving you an impossible task, would insinuate you'd get fired if you didn't succeed. 'It's all about an optimistic state of mind!' and so on.

Groaning internally, Lou shut the door behind her and sat down in the expensive, vintage leather chair opposite what she realized was the last person she wanted to see that morning.

«So, good morning! How are things? I hope you're feeling better since the attack?» She had almost forgotten about the lie about being mugged. It wasn't like she could tell the truth, anyway.  
Lillian smiled at her in the way women who thought they were better than you did. Lillian was her boss, but she was no middle-aged woman in a cardigan. Her last name was Elliot, her brother being none other than Thomas Elliot. The once dominant Elliot family was now limited to the woman in front of her. Both parents gone and a brother serving a life-sentence for...well, a lot of shit. Having a brother in Arkham didn't seem to dampen her spirits, she inherited most, if not all of the family's wealth and had moved on to become quite the socialite. Despite her brother's history with Bruce Wayne, she seemed close to the billionaire playboy, as far as Lou was aware anyway. Why Lillian was employed at the library, esteemed as it was though, was a mystery to her. Like her brother, she hadn't inherited their fathers skill for business, so maybe the library was merely a way to stay busy. She certainly didn't fit in with the crowd or the books. Sometimes she wondered if she read anything at all. There she was, telling Lou how to do her job.  
Her red hair was up in the tightest bun she'd ever seen, not a single hair out of place. Lou almost laughed when she realized she looked like a fake version of herself. Like the models of sexy Halloween costumes, the 'Librarian' version. The skirt, the tight-fitted jacket, glasses she probably didn't need and the kitten heels. It had always fascinated her how little sense of self most people had. Like Lillian, didn't she know even the most socially oblivious people could read her in a second? Maybe that was the point? This get-up was not intended for the girls. That thought nearly made her chuckle. Looking at her Lou realized she hadn't seen a smile like that since high school, meetings with 'concerned' teachers and counselors. That fake kind of almost worried smile. Lou sat up straight, trying to remind herself she wasn't that anxiety-ridden sixteen years old anymore.

She put on her best professional smile she nodded and avoided the apparent topic on her fading black eye.  
«Good morning! I know we're getting new orders in for the archives today, I hoped we could talk about-»

Lillian smiled stiffly and interrupted with a knowing nod. «-and we have talked about it. If you're here to complain about the work I'm giving you, you're in the wrong line of work. »

Lou felt her jaw tighten, as if this girl knew the first thing about work.  
«I'm merely concerned about the lack of space, not the amount of work. Would it be possible to place the new additions to the collection in the storage while I make room for it?»

Lillian raised a humorous brow. «I don't see what a lack of space you can have when there's only you down there.»

Lou let out a short, impatient laugh. «Well, it's not the boxes that are the problem really, when I get everything _unboxed_ it's the storage space that's the issue. What I'm saying is we should go through what we already have-»

«You of all people should know what a treasure that collection is, Louisa. You can't expect me to what, throw it out?»

Moving to the edge of her seat, she felt her patience run out. «No, absolutely not. What I'm saying is, if you want to add to the collection you have to check to see if there's room for it.»

The redhead leaned back in her chair with another condescending smile as she twirled a pen with her right hand.  
«This is one of the most historical buildings in Gotham. There's a reputation to uphold; I'm sure you can understand that. The more we have in our collection, the better we look. Despite what you may think, appearances do matter.»

This was like being back in the tenth grade. Though that burn didn't sting as much as it might have once upon a time, Lou had to restrain herself.  
«I am fully aware of this building's significance to the city, that's the whole reason I'm here-»

Interrupting her once again, Lillian let out a fake relieved sigh, telling her the conversation would be over very soon.  
«See, it's sorted then! I've never doubted your dedication to the work; I'll rest easy knowing you're on the case. The papers in question have already been delivered.»

Standing up and pushing her chair back, Lou gave her a tight smile as she grabbed her bag. She needed to leave before she told her exactly what she thought of her. Her and Lillian were the same age, Lou was more qualified than she was and that made it even harder to hold her tongue at Lillian's condescension.  
«I'll get on with it then.» she exhaled.

With a big smile, Lillian threw her fist in the air, as if her favorite team had just won the game.  
«That's what I like to hear! No more chit-chat!»

Without another word, Lou walked out the door and steadied herself so she wouldn't slam it shut. It wouldn't strengthen her case if she stooped down to her level, but it was proving to be harder than she had imagined not to. She knew the responsibility of the work was entirely on her. How she would untangle this mess, she had no idea. It was such an easy fix for Lillian though, how she couldn't understand the sentence 'There is no room' was baffling. Lou had enough on her plate, and now her porn star boss was starting to create problems that could so easily be avoided. There's wasn't enough space for any of the items Lillian had bought and the blame would land on Lou as it always did. Another load of bricks worth of stress on her shoulders, she made her way down the dark stairs to her archives at a hurried pace. Stomping down the last flight of stairs, she dropped her bag on the floor and shook off her jacket.

« _Fucking bitch._ » she hissed to herself as she pushed some of the boxes aside. She didn't know where to begin because there wasn't anything she could do. If Lillian wanted the most extensive collection in the whole of North America, she had to get a more sizable archive. As a result of Lillian's hoarding, there was so much stuff Lou was sure no one but her could distinguish one from the other. Sitting down on the floor among the boxes with a frustrated sigh, she sat there in a heap having no clue what to or how to do it. She frowned, something didn't feel right. Except for the obvious, like it was too quiet. Like the feeling, you get when you've missed something. She slowly turned to her right, toward the hallway that led to the back exit. Toward the door, she usually came and went through. Her breath got caught in her throat, so suddenly she almost had a coughing fit. The sharp, dark silhouette of what looked like a man stood in the hallway, among the pile of boxes. That door was always locked so whoever was there must've picked the locks. WShe blinked a few times, as if to double check to see if he was real as he didn't move. She too sat utterly unmovable.

«You got a lotta' boxes,» he spoke flatly as if there was nothing hidden in his voice, he merely stated the obvious.

«Yeah.» she only managed to whisper back. The silhouette moved slowly towards her and around the boxes. The only sound filling the room were his shoes on the old floor, creaking. She sat still in her spot on the floor, eyes glued to the moving figure. The thought he might be one of the Russians, or sent by them, was the first thing on her mind. If they had followed Maggie and not at least Martin, why wouldn't they go after her as well?

«Bad time for a visi _t_?» she made eye contact with the man who stepped into the room. A familiar face that made her in relief let go of the breath she had been holding.

«No, not at all. We're open.» she tried to give a reassuring smile, but felt her words backfire. He had, after all, used the one door that was not open. Had she not been so relieved to see him, she'd be on the phone with the security. The sight of the tall, brown-eyed man who didn't have a name but didn't like hers, was a little splash of color to her stressful, but boring life. He was a little if not very weird, but she didn't mind. He'd come by almost every day and read a book or go through the building plans again. As suspicious as she found him and as strange as he was, she had to admit she liked having him around. When she didn't catch him blatantly staring at her, that was. At times she would lift her gaze from her work and see him, shamelessly staring at her. It was near impossible to pin down, how he looked at her. It wasn't a glare, just a look. As if he was trying to remember something. Sometimes she tried to ignore it; sometimes she stared back. She should have asked him what the hell he was doing, but she just went with it most of the time. Had he been threatening her with a gun she might have vocalized her fear. Over the past weeks she'd become accustomed to him, if he hadn't been so sneaky, he wouldn't be scaring her either.

He came farther in and stood by the table he used to sit by whenever he was there.  
«Hope I didn't scare ya too much,» he said plainly, of course, he knew he had scared her.

Though he wasn't standing right next to her, she felt as though he was towering over her from where she sat on the floor. As steadily as she could, she got up from the floor and moved a box away just to look busy.

«You're usually not this early, that's all.» she huffed, placing the box on top of another.

«Sometimes I am,» he said in a low hum, looking over the shelves with an interested look as if he had never seen them before. She had never seen him there that early, which meant he was there by himself those 'sometimes.' That alone was something she could get fired for. The list of what could get her fired seemed to get longer by every day. Like slamming her employers head against her desk repeatedly, for instance.

He broke the silence with a deep breath before speaking.  
«I was hoping-» he said slowly moving his way toward her end of the table, «you'd help me find a boo _k_.»

Looking over at him she answered on instinct as she would with anyone one else. «No problem. You know the title?»

«Uh, _Dante's Inferno_.» his tongue clicking and his gloved fingers drumming on the table in a stable rhythm.

She merely stared back at him with a deadpan expression. He would do that sometimes, bring up little things they'd talked about before almost to test her. Like this little game, they'd play. She couldn't tell why, but it always made the corners of her mouth twitch.

«I _assumed_ you had it?» he looked back at her with a blank look on his face, feigning ignorance.

«Yes, we do. I'll go get it,» she said nodding with a smile and moved around the table and toward the stairs.

Going up the stairs to the main library she knew precisely where to find it. It was quiet as usual, and the sound of her footsteps echoed in the hall. Looking toward Lillian's office, she scoffed. What did she do all day? She rarely saw her out of her office, and besides ordering insane amounts of historical papers, Lou had no idea what she was up to. It wasn't that she was envious of her, thinking she deserved the job more. Lou liked her post, she was left alone for the most part, and she did well. She would though, prefer a boss that let her do her job without sabotaging her. Maybe Lillian was trying to squeeze her out by giving her an impossible task, that woman might be a bitch, but she didn't come across as dumb. Far from silly, she was calculating. Every compliment was back-handed, she'd stare you down to see your reaction and smile that smug smile that told you she knew precisely where she had you. She was a spider. Near fuming, Lou climbed up the ladder and grabbed the familiar book with a red leather binding. Then that alarm went off again. The instinct that tapped on her shoulder and made her freeze like a deer in the woods. She heard the old ladder creak softly under her weight and her increasing heartbeat, else than that the vast room was as quiet as always. Careful so she wouldn't fall she slowly stepped down the ladder and in the corner of her eye she saw something. Turning around as if she was unaffected, she quickly looked over to her right as she walked toward the stairs. She nearly stumbled as she got locked in eye contact with one of the three brooding men sitting around a table, ten feet away. All three looked roughly identical; tall, big built and bearded with the same uniform of heavy, black leather jackets and military style boots. They couldn't be more stereotypical, so much so Lou almost doubted the reality of the situation. It would be apparent to anyone that these three weren't there to study for their masters or to set up their next lecture. The moment she looked into his eyes, she knew. The man abruptly got up from his seat, his chair protesting being pushed back and Lou had to control her legs to keep them from running. One of the other men quickly pulled his arm and made him sit down. It took everything she had not to run downstairs and then home. Clutching on to the book in her arms, she tried to meet his eyes with indifference or rather, pretend as if she was ignorant of the severity of the situation. The first man's unblinking stare made her feel sick, yet she acted to be unfazed and calmly made her way down the stairs, to her strange friend.

Letting out a quick breath she came down the stairs and set the book down in front of him with a tight smile and sat back down to pretend to work. She couldn't stop herself from staring up at the stairs every 10 seconds, hoping no one else was to come down those steps. She had to calm down, but couldn't find a single reason to. Her mind was racing, and she tried to steady her breathing. She clumsily got up from her chair and stumbled before regaining balance and walked over to the boxes she'd been meaning to go through. The ones whose content she had no idea where to put. Everything felt pointless. She felt herself grow angry, so angry her chest hurt. There are three Russian mobsters upstairs, presumably waiting for her to finish her shift. If they were merely following her they wouldn't show themselves, would they? There she was pretending to go through boxes that they didn't and wouldn't have room for; there was no point in even opening the damn boxes. She was tempted to dump them in Lillian's office and tell her to go fuck herself. Of course, she couldn't, but there was some satisfaction in the fantasy. She wanted to scream out in frustration, her life was moving toward chaos, and she wished she could pause it for a few minutes just to catch her breath and wipe out the mistakes with an eraser. She may have a significant mouth, but getting involved with the mobs wasn't something she could talk her way out of. Not that she had talked her way _in_ with the mobs, that responsibility laid with her optimistic blonde friend. She heard herself groan at the thought of Maggie and the summary of her situation. Focusing on Lillian helped, who didn't hate their boss? If only she didn't work alone, she'd have someone to vent to. She couldn't go to Maggie now and tell her about the multi-millionaire redhead that made her job impossible-

«You smoke?» she snapped out of it and immediately looked up to find the mystery man look back at her with the same blank expression, chewing at the scarred side of his mouth, waiting for her answer.

She sat on the floor among the boxes, and he towered over her. Looking back down at the styrofoam box in front of her she didn't realize in her anger she'd ripped at the lid to the point of ripping parts of it off, leaving the remnants strewn around her. She'd also forgotten that he was there, he usually made his presence clear. He reached a gloved hand out to her, waiting for her to accept it. Suspiciously she stared at the black glove and back at the man's face. He seemed younger than he acted, but she couldn't pin his age down. He could be in his mid-twenties, but it wouldn't surprise her if he were ten/fifteen years her senior. To be fair to him, she had the type of face that got her carded for buying bleach at the grocery store. Maggie always joked about how Lou didn't look legal to most people. Nodding she let out a sigh and hesitantly reached for his hand to let him help her up from the floor. She brushed the styrofoam off her and put her jacket on, following the mystery man out to the back entrance of the library.

«Feel like talking about it?» his deep and raspy voice cut through to her as she lit a cigarette. She felt his eyes on her but didn't want to meet them.

«Nah, it's... just, too many fucking boxes,» she mumbled and pulled her jacket tighter around her to avoid the cold. The pure dread of knowing what was waiting for her upstairs left her stomach in knots, and she had a hard time focusing on anything outside of herself.

«You don't like those boxes.» she turned to him and was met with a small, yet friendly and infectious smile. Having him there helped, though she suspected she'd revel in the company of anyone that wasn't part of the mafia. It reminded her of how attractive he was and also how unusual their friendship was. Calling it a friendship almost made her laugh, she had no idea how to label the situation or him. In total over the past few weeks, they'd spent hours together. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. Though the situation was strange and she probably should have confronted him about it, she felt herself sigh in disappointment if he didn't stop by that day. When she thought about it, this was the most normal friendship she currently had. Strange as it might be, odd as _he_ might be, it was the most normal relationship she had considering the circumstances of her life outside the library. This is the man who was about to steal valuable papers from the place she worked, and now it seemed she was stuck with him. She wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Realizing she had zoned entirely out staring up at him, she cleared her throat and tried to pull it together.  
«My boss bought a lot of documents and antique papers that we just don't have room for. We're not exactly the best of friends.» she shrugged and took another drag of her cigarette.

A small chuckle escaped him. «That's what got you so riled up?»

She didn't miss the humor in his tone. «Ha-ha, I get it. It's not just the boxes; she's all around a fucking cunt.»

Another smile spread across his face as he breathed out the cigarette smoke. «Last of the Elliots, huh?»

She nodded. «Yeah, I almost feel bad for her.»

She leaned against the wall behind her with a self-deprecating smile. «Shit, I should not be talking shit about my boss to you.»

« I don't know her. After finding out she's a fucking cunt, I don't _want_ to know her.»

Raising her brows, she put her hands out with a huff. «Exactly. Bad advertisement.»

Interested, he tilted his head and looked at her unblinking, the way that always made her uncomfortable. «Where does she work, your boss?»

«Her office is upstairs..» she shrugged.

«Not in the archives?»

She snorted, seeing where he was going. «Nobody but me in the archives.»

«Problem solved then, continue your shit-talking.» he waved his hand as he took another drag of the cigarette.

She drew a deep breath. «There's not that much to say, though. She's a spoiled kid in a job she doesn't understand and isn't qualified for. Lillian get's herself into trouble by being over-ambitious and downright dumb and leaves the responsibility on everyone else.» She stopped and caught herself thinking about Maggie.

«How long have you been working here?»

She grimaced and took a second to think. «Uh, four or five years? Something like that.»

He looked back at her with a what was a downright friendly smile. The most welcoming smile she had seen from him, anyway. «You not sure?»

«Well, this job and this city will drain the life out of you. If someone told me I'd been here a decade, I wouldn't be surprised.»

He nodded. «Don't cha think you're too young to be wasting away here?»

She let out a heartfelt laugh at that. «Sure, where do you propose I'd go?»

He leaned back against the wall behind him with a smile and kept his eyes on her. «Somewhere else.»

Not missing a beat she retorted. «Why are _you_ here though?»

«Maybe I like the company.» he looked back at her, she tried and failed to keep eye contact. It wasn't that big of a compliment, Christ, it couldn't even be categorized as flirting, but she felt her treacherous face grow bright red. The embarrassment was doubled by how hungry she was for human contact, that a simple compliment like that made her light up like a Christmas tree. When it became too much, too awkward, she sighed and threw her cigarette on the ground, crushing it under her boot.

«Alright,» she mumbled and walked over to the door, pulling it open and took one step inside before stopping. Realizing she was hungry for more than human contact, she remembered the lunch she had bought before going to see Maggie and Martin.

She turned to her unnamed friend, «Hey, you hungry?»

He gave her a somewhat puzzled look before mumbling something she didn't understand and promptly following her back inside. Sitting down with her lunch she handed him the half piece of the sandwich, and to her surprise he accepted. As he sat down opposite her, she felt a little proud that he had accepted and possibly a little proud she had dared ask.

«You're not eating?» she looked up and was surprised by how close they were. The table wasn't very wide and sucking in a breath she realized they hadn't been this close before. Well, there was that time she thought he was there to kill her.

Shaking her head, she looked down at her food. «No, I'm not feeling that great-»

«Exactly why you should eat,» he mumbled through his chewing and lightly pushed the bag of food toward her.

«Yeah, I don't think I'll be able to keep anything down.» she sat back and swallowed, trying to keep her nausea under control.

«Look, I know you're not this tensed up about your _boss_. You don't have to tell me shit if you don't want, but you really should eat.» his brown eyes peered into her hesitant eyes. Taking a breath she took the other sandwich out of the bag and with him staring at her, as if to see if she'd do what she was told, she took a bite.

«Good job!» he said overly-cheery, condescendingly and she vibrated with a silent laugh.

«Fuck off,» she mumbled smiling and looked over at him only to see him smiling back. There they sat in the most comfortable silence the two had shared in the weeks they'd spent together. There was a shift now, Lou had stepped away from the professional part she was so used to playing. They both sat there in the dark archives of the library as they had done many times before, now exchanging small smiles and chuckles like two middle schoolers. Inexplicably then, Lou felt the knot in her stomach give way to something else.


	4. Watch That Man

_REMINDER: Story has been updated and major parts rewritten, March '18._

Once again I tried to keep my chapter short and failed. This one, even if you've followed the story since before the update, is a brand new one. I like it very much and hope you'll like it too.

* * *

She woke up with a jolt; a gasp escaped her as she tried to take in her surroundings. Blinking, attempting to get her eyes adjusted to the light, she sat up. Her body ached, and she swore she could hear her joints creak in protest. She was running on so little sleep her body would at some point pull the emergency breaks. The past seven months were catching up with her, and she knew her circumstances weren't about to change anytime soon and so her sleep schedule would stay as is. She wanted nothing more than to fall back against the somewhat soft background and get some much-needed rest but groaned as she felt another presence in the room.

«Hey, sorry I woke you.» she heard Martins calm voice to her right. Trying in vain to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she begrudgingly turned to him.

«How long was I out?» she cleared her throat immediately upon hearing how raw and groggy her voice was.

«A couple of hours, I figured you needed it more than most.» a large to-go cup of coffee entered her blurry vision, and Lou accepted it with a shaking hand.

«Fuck, you could have woken me. We're short on staff-»

«Traffics been slow, don't worry about it.» he continued calmly and sat down on a box opposite her with a kind smile. She chugged some of the hot coffee hoping the burning hot liquid would shake her out of her half-conscious state.

The patient doctor let out a sigh. «I'm a little worried about you.»

Lou looked over at him for the first time. «I'm worried about all of us.»

«You're working, what, 15-20 hour days now? How much time do you get to sleep or eat?» his expression turned serious.

«Like I'm the only one here who has a paying job on the side?» she quipped a brow at him. Martin worked just as much as she did; it seemed ridiculous to compare Lou's job at the library to the shifts he had at the hospital.

He smiled. «I've gotten used to the tempo and the non-existing sleep pattern. Just, be careful not to burn yourself out, okay?»

She nodded back. «You haven't heard from Maggie yet?»

«No. Another somebody I'm worried about.» he sighed. Maggie had casually as always, told them she had to 'sort something out' and she might be gone for a few days. A few days had gone by and no sign of her. Even though Lou halfway expected her to show up at any time just like she always had, that sour feeling in her gut followed by the endless 'what if's' persisted. They couldn't ignore the situation they were in, though after their last meeting Lou realized she wasn't the only one in constant panic.

«I'll stop by her tonight after work. Even if she isn't home I have a spare key; I'll have a look around,» she muttered and stretched her arms with a small groan.

She had talked to her just the week before, and it wasn't a conversation that left her feeling calm about the situation they were in and how Maggie was dealing with it. They had been in the same storage room she currently found herself in, or as they called it in the clinic; the break room.

 _«You still carry a gun?» Maggie's voice cut through her thoughts and Lou muttered a reply as he chewed her lunch._

 _«It got stolen, and I haven't had the time to get a new one.» Lou shrugged._

 _«I need a gun,» Maggie said louder causing Lou to raise her eyes to her in confusion._

 _«Isn't hard to get a hold of one,» she said plainly._

 _«How do I go about getting a license? I don't think I have time- I need one quick.» Maggie stood in the middle of the room, apparently nervous, obviously scared. Picking at her nails, she stared out the muddy window on the door with big eyes._

 _Putting her lunch down, worry creeping up her spine, Lou frowned. «Wait, no. You don't get a license; you just get a gun.»_

 _Maggie nodded quickly without looking at her, Lou's advice not soothing her._

 _«Stupid question, but what's going on? I thought things were at least at a standstill?» Lou moved closer to her._

 _«You think I don't need a gun, then?» she muttered back._

 _«That's not what I'm saying.»_

 _«I'm just a little freaked out. Being followed everywhere doesn't help.» Maggie drew a deep breath and turned to her._

 _«I get that. I'll write down the address of this guy I know; it's not too far from here.» Lou searched the room for a piece of paper and the second she handed it to Maggie; she bolted out the room._

That was a week prior and the only reason Lou wasn't running around mid-town and downtown looking for her, was because Maggie had a habit of not picking up the phone and disappearing for a while. Only to show up out of the blue, a-okay. Last time the three of them had talked, one of the topics had been the slashings of Maroni's men. The strange cards they found would now be the size of a full deck. Her shifts were always at night, so she had first-hand experience and was the one who had to deal with it the most.

«Any more of those face cuts?» she asked, it hadn't interested her at first, but well, then it did. Mobster after mobster fell into the clinic and they all lived. If you were to plan and execute said plan to fuck up the mob, why leave them alive? It was about sending a message, but she had no idea what that message was.

«No, not this week. They usually start coming in closer to the weekend. The guy, presumably, who cuts 'em could have a regular job. Too busy on the weekdays-»

«An office manager whose favorite pastime includes card games and fucking up the mafia.» she nodded with a smiled.

A tired laugh escaped him, and he sat up straight. «We should've been detectives; the guy would have been caught in no time.»

«Holmes and Watson, step aside.» she smiled though something didn't sit well with her. Nothing honestly sat well with her those days; she was so spent and anxious that she knew it would have to stop at some point. There was too much happening, too many things _not_ happening and the shit they were in was so thick she couldn't see how to get out of it. She didn't know if it was the silence she was uncomfortable with or if she had just gotten used to the tempo, the strange and terrifying things that happened on a daily basis. Lou didn't want to get used to it, she wanted to be alert, but that meant she had to feel as exhausted as she was, always.

She heard him hesitate before speaking. There was a lot unsaid between the three of them, most likely due to how terrifying it was to acknowledge the situation they were in. Lou's way was to force everything out at once and the other two suffered in silence.

For the first time, Lou saw their calm leader lose his optimistic mask if not just a little.  
«The Russians are still keeping an eye on us. I see them around the hospital daily. Sometimes they follow me home, they're not exactly discreet, I've gotten used to just assuming they're always around.» he sat more slumped across from her, his jaw tight.

Lou realized she hadn't told them about her Russian fan club. There wasn't a specific reason as to why she hadn't; maybe she was trying to ignore it like so many of the weird things that had happened the past six months. As if acknowledging being followed by gang members on a daily basis would be the last straw. Both psychically and emotionally she was speeding toward a cliff.

Downing the last of her coffee she decided to tell him. «Yeah, I, uh, they've been hanging around the library for the past few weeks. Don't think they've been following me home or nothing, but still, they sit there every day, and it's not like they blend in with the crowd.»

Martin sat up. « _Fuck._ » he exhaled and closed his eyes, making Lou feel uneasy. She didn't want to be the calm one, she didn't want to be the glue of their little group, but with Maggie gone and Martin growing more and more anxious, it came down to her.

Puttin the empty coffee cup down on the floor she took a deep breath.  
«Look, Maggie has already talked to them. The fact that none of us have gotten more letters or any kind of message from them since is a good sign. They're most likely just checking to see we stick to the deal. From their perspective, Maggie has obviously not been a reliable business partner, and they're protecting their interest.»

Martin smiled, and his body shook with a silent laugh.

«What?»

«No, you make complete sense. You'd make one hell of a diplomat or a Gotham attorney.»

She huffed. «Maybe that's why decision making should have been up to me and not Maggie.»

That familiar kind smile spread across his face again. «Maybe.»

Getting up to stretch her legs she turned to Martin; «What time is it?»

Looking at his watch, he cleared his throat. «Eight-thirty.»

«Shit. I gotta go.» she hurried to gather her things and take off the dirty scrubs that even to her had a smell that stung her nose. There wasn't time to stop by home for a shower; there never was after those shifts.

«I know you've heard this before, but you wouldn't be late if you took the train.»

She chuckled as she put on her 'library shoes,' she always had her library clothes ready, Lillian would have some questions if Lou showed up in blood and sweat soaked scrubs. She did find the thought tempting, though. «Walkings good for you! You're a medical professional, you should know.»

He smiled, but she heard in his voice that he knew she wouldn't change her mind.  
«As a doctor, I would advise against walking alone in Gotham at any time of the day or night.»

Putting on her coat and picking up her bag she walked out of the room before turning to him with a smile; «Don't jinx it, doc! I've made it this far.»

«Still, be careful!» he shouted with a laugh as she made her way out of the clinic and to the least fun of her two jobs.

* * *

The day had gone by exceptionally slow, and though she had a lot to do, she found herself waking up with her head on her desk now and then. It didn't help that the archives had the most comfortable light, practically forcing her to fall asleep on the job. On any other day it could be hard to resist the temptation for a nap, but today it was impossible. The piles of papers and folders seemed to mock her more than usual, yet she couldn't find the energy to be angry about it. In the mid-afternoon, she had gone upstairs to find a book and lo and behold, her fan club of three sat in their usual seats with their usual grimaces. Having them around all the time seemed to have the opposite effect on her than intended. Had they sent her messages and followed her _everywhere_ she most likely would have been in a constant state of panic, but all they did was sit there. It goes to show how fast you adapt to whatever circumstances you're in. Lou was a master at just that, her whole life up to that point had been just that, adjusting to her conditions. Just like most of the people living in that city, she was used to life not going her way.  
Without being able to stop herself she had fallen asleep again, this time she woke up with a jolt. The last half of her soggy sandwich was glued to the side of her face, and she had to scrape it off with a napkin. Had she not reached a low point weeks before, this would be it. Trying to get the last remnants of butter off her face she heard an odd cracking sound from the left corner of the room.  
She turned toward the noise to see what had now become a usual sight, the strange man. The nameless character she had silently given the name Marlon on account of how alike Marlon Brando he was. Well, sans the scars. To say they grew on her sounded weird, but she genuinely thought they looked good on him now. After that shared sandwich, the air between them had changed. Though she didn't dare admit it to herself, she found herself smiling at his comments and looking forward to seeing him. Every conversation they had carried with it a thick layer of flirtatious undertones. More than once had she caught herself staring at him, like an insane hermit trying to hold on to the one person that bothered to be around her. She sat still in her mild embarrassment with eyes locked with his. His legs were resting on the table in front of him; he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him. Usually, he carried an air of controlled nervousness or unsettledness. There he sat, casually eating an apple, _her_ apple with a relaxed expression.

«Mornin'.» he smiled, mouth full of apple.

«Mornin'.» she croaked back and put the napkin away as if that would erase the fact that her face had just been covered in butter and a salad leaf. Sitting up straight as if she hadn't just been caught sleeping, she mused up at the clock. _Fuck._

Catching her reaction, he sucked his teeth. «Yeah. I was planning on waking you soon, thought you might have slipped into a coma.»

She put her head in her hands in near disbelief. A little lunch nap had turned into a near four-hour drool fest. They closed in little under an hour, and she had slept away the vast majority of her workday. Lou was already suspecting that Lillian had started going through the security footage from the archives to make sure Lou did what she was told. That, of course, was illegal, but she knew Lillian was far from above spying on her employees. If she did indeed spy on her, she'd find her sleeping on the job and having a secret friend she traded food and books with like a stray dog she kept in the confines of the basement.

«I think it's time we talked about it.» she heard him say from his usual seat.

«About what?» she muttered back, too occupied with her own thoughts of 'What if mommy found out?' to look at him.

«About the leather-clad entourage, you've somehow acquired.» she turned to him and his deadpan expression and didn't even attempt to conjure a mask of confusion. For a minute that's all they did, look at each other. She wasn't scared, not in shock; she was still tired. Tired psychically and mentally. The seriousness of her situation had faded over the past few weeks and now she felt more exasperated than anything else. Her emotional state could be summarized by a shrug.

«I call 'em my fan club,» she said dryly.

A sharp exhale of air that seemed to substitute a laugh came out of him as he took his feet off the table and leaned in closer, though he was still six feet away.

«Really?» his lips twisted into a smirk and she merely nodded back.

Beating him to it, she spoke first. «I thought you were one of 'em first.»

His eyebrows raised in surprise. « _Ouch._ Ya really think I seem like a Russian mobster?» he did the last part in a horrible Russian accent that seemed to force a laugh out of her.

«I don't know; maybe you're a well-integrated one who worked lots on his English. Like one of those cold war spies.» she couldn't help but smile a little at that.

«Maybe you read too many books, doll.» his voice laced with humor.

«Obviously I do.» she smiled back.

Knowing he wouldn't let the topic go, she decided to beat him to it again. «So, not with the Russians.»

«Nope.» he smacked his lips.

«What about Maroni?»

He chuckled. «I'm not a mobster; you can name all the fuckers in town, I'm not with them.»

«Who are you with, then?»

«I'm not with anybody.»

«Nobody hired you?»

He looked at her amused, catching on to her thinking. «You think I'd be a very successful hitman if it took me near two months to finish a hit?»

Changing his seating, he looked at her with an interested look and quipped a brow;

«You derailed this whole conversation, making me out to be a suspect while the suspects are upstairs.»

Internally groaning, she compromised. «I'm giving you the short, very edited version.»

«Why's that?»

«I don't know you. You're pretty weird, I have no idea why you're here so much and why you're interested in my life,» she said plainly.

Raising his brows again he chewed at the side of his mouth. «You're an interesting girl with an interesting life.»

«Also, we have to be out of here soon.» she nodded up at the clock, ignoring him.

«Fair enough.» he chuckled.

«My friend got involved with the Russians as a way to not get involved with Maroni, sort of. I tried to help my friend, but now I'm in the same situation. She made a deal with the Russians but hasn't always kept up her end, so I get the guard dogs.» Very edited version, indeed.

«To make sure you stay put and don't do anything stupid.» he nodded.

«I got used to them pretty quickly, they don't do anything but sit there, anyway.»

«Just how did your friend stumble upon a deal with the Russians?» he mused and she laughed despite herself. That's exactly what she had said.

«She's a working class, idealistic girl in Gotham. That mix means nothing but trouble,» she smirked. Something didn't feel right to her, though. She had been suspicious of him from the get-go, though obviously not enough to confront him or tell him to leave. Even if she were to look away from his scars and the mobsters she had to stitch up every weekend, she wasn't used to people putting themselves in her life. Lou felt her insides grow sour at the thought that maybe she just wanted some human company. Was it worth jeopardizing her life for, though? She knew the answer to that immediately when she continued talking.

She decided to tell him about the clinic. «My friend, she's a doctor. About a year ago she opened a free clinic in the Narrows and shortly after that I joined. Got a nurse certificate and everything. There's lots of crooked cops and junkies, but most of all, mobsters. Maroni's guys are in and out of there like a strip joint.» she sighed and got up from her chair.

«-and that's how the Russians stepped in,» he spoke calmly as she turned to him, his expression unchanged.

«Bingo,» she said with a voice utterly rid of enthusiasm. Then she remembered something. A little detail that she in the clutter of things had forgotten about.

She hesitated before drawing a breath. «The Batman told me.»

A few silent moments passed where Marlon looked at her with an unreadable expression. « _The Batman?_ »

«One night after a shift he came out of nowhere and told me about the deal she'd made,» she said walking over to the trash can with her half-eaten lunch.

«A grown, brooding man dressed as a bat, with that ridiculous voice,» she muttered as she walked back to her seat, a laugh erupted from the man in the room.

She looked over to see him smiling, like a kid in a toy store. There was something beautiful about it. «Ooh, I like _you_!»

«He wasn't of much help. Hard to think anybody can take him seriously.» she looked up at the clock and saw it was time to leave. Promptly putting her jacket on she grabbed her stuff.

«We gotta go.» she nodded up at the clock and he was on his feet the next second.

Hands in his pockets he followed her out the exit with another one of those unreadable expressions. Shutting and locking the door behind them, again they found themselves in the small space in the dark stairwell outside the library. Last time they were there he said he enjoyed her company, a little comment, barely a compliment but she took it to heart with a desperate grasp. This attractive stranger had become her sole source of validation, the one person in her chaotic life she could have conversations with. As raindrops hit puddles around them and echoed through the empty street, she put a cigarette to her lips and went through her pockets to find a lighter. Before she could locate it, he put a lighter of his own up and lit her cigarette.

«Thanks,» she mumbled. The few times they were that psychically close she found it hard to concentrate. Not merely because she had recently admitted to herself that she found him attractive, it was his near constant staring that set her on edge. It made her feel as if he could read her mind so keeping anything back was a useless endeavor. It was like being silently interrogated.

«You going home?» he spoke finally.

«Yeah, I'm done for the day,» she said, blowing out smoke.

«It's dark, I'll walk you,» he said, looking up at the gloomy sky.

«That's not necessary-» she said hurriedly.

«Don't be rude, doll, just let me walk you,» he smirked without looking at her.

«It's far, that's all,» she mumbled, walking up the stairs a little embarrassed.

Promptly following her, he made it up the stairs in two long strides.  
«Where you live? I think it's safe to assume you're not a midtown gal?»

She took entirely no offense at that. «Stevensburg.»

«Don't take the train?» he asked simply.

«Too many people,» she mumbled and came to a stop. «Look, you don't have to walk me, it's not like it's a couple of blocks.»

He gave a light shrug. «I don't mind.» He took a deep breath and looked around as if lost in thought. «I'm trying to figure you out, is all.»

That made her grimace; sometimes he'd say things that made no sense to her at all. Sometimes she challenged him on it; sometimes she just didn't have the guts. Without further protest from her, they walked. Usually, obviously, she was alone on those walks and could scurry down the streets unaccompanied, but now it had turned into an activity. As in, let's go for a walk. It was very chivalrous, maybe that's why she thought it was so strange.

The farther they walked, the more comfortable she got. Though it still felt strange and oddly formal, in a way, she couldn't say she hated it. As they made their way through the puddles and the dark toward Stevensburg, she heard him mumble something about how fast she walked for a someone so small. As if he had problems keeping up, she smiled. When they exited midtown, the buildings changed and the people disappeared. That eerie feeling felt like home to her, though 'home' didn't conjure any warm, fuzzy feelings.

«Do you carry?» he spoke suddenly.

«Hm?» she hummed back having not expected him to speak.

«Do you carry?» he repeated, this time his brown eyes penetrated her. Maybe that's just the way he looked at people, but it always threw her off.

«Uh, no. I used to.» It would be too embarrassing to say two guys had mugged her and took her gun. She knew how to use a gun, she bought one to protect herself and when the situation presented itself she forgot all about it. There she thought she was a hardened working-class badass with a gun.

«You should be if you're walking this route twice a day,» he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

«Yeah, I'm tempting fate a little too much,» she muttered and mirrored him, burying her hands in her pockets.

She heard him huff and turned to see him smile. «You work as a nurse in the Narrows and you don't have a gun?»

Lou had the week before just told Maggie the same thing, so she definitely deserved the criticism.

«I know, I know. I'll get a gun.» she smiled.

«I can't decide if it's stupid or naive, it might be both.» he continued, teasingly as if he couldn't hear her.

«Hey!» she laughed and shoved him in the side. «I get it; your point is made.»

Taking a deep breath, he spoke again. «So, have you always wanted to be a nurse?» he smirked, already knowing the answer.

«Absolutely not.» she laughed. «It was more to help Maggie. Getting to see mobster scumbags in pain was just a perk.»

«Even though you're the one to patch 'em up?»

«I don't care much if they live or die, the result doesn't interest me. They're just scumbags.» she shrugged.

«It doesn't piss you off? Being ordered around by the mobs and dirty cops?»

She sighed. «Sure, it bothers me, but what the fuck am I going to do about it? Join Batman and run around town in tights?»

He smiled and spoke teasingly. She tried to suppress the blush that moved over her face at the sound of his voice.  
«You're already friends with the guy.»

She nodded and answered sarcastically. «Great friends. What a guy. Always a bringer of good news and even better advice.»

Walking down the street, she took a turn and he followed. «I get that working where I work, you'd assume I'm a young idealist out to change the world, but it isn't like that. I don't know why, exactly. Maybe I'm just following the rest of the herd mindlessly without premeditation.»

«You don't seem like a sheep to me.» he looked over at her.

She chuckled. «Don't think I care even if I am.»

«You should care,» he said so lowly she almost didn't catch it.

«There's no point in caring, though. Isn't that the first rule of Gotham?»

«You just have to be very selective when it comes to what you care about.»

«Not too much and not too little, right?» she smiled at him.

«Something like that.» he smiled back.

The streetlights illuminated his face and she realized how fond she had grown of him and his face. She had one close friend in life and very few others she'd categorize as friends. She couldn't remember the last time someone had made her blush and at the same time, she was scared she was giving this new friendship too much meaning. Just because she was inexperienced and had avoided these situations as if her life depended on it, she had forced herself into a very lonely life and was now facing the consequences. Was she attracted to him simply because she was lonely? The manner in which they had met was strange enough; he was so strange she should have easily ignored him and went on with her life. Not much about this man said he was a character she'd want to stick around. His interest in her and her life should have had made the alarm go off, especially considering the situation she was in with the mobs. After admitting to herself that she was flattered, she felt a little more than pathetic. What were his motives? Did he have any? Though, as he had said earlier, if he was there to kill her, why would he have waited so long? It was a good point. Good enough for her to feel okay about walking around the dark streets of the city with him.  
Walking over to her apartment block, she stopped.

«This is it.» she sighed and turned to him.

He looked around and up at the building with an almost analytical look on his face. She didn't expect him to be surprised she lived in a such a shitty part of town, nor did he seem surprised, only interested. There was that word again.

He muttered something as he took in the building, she wondered if he was aware that he did that. When he was done looking at the building and talking to himself, his gaze turned to her. She had almost forgotten that near invasive way he'd stare at her. It took her by surprise every time and left her a nervous mess. It wasn't a threatening look, but for the life of her, she couldn't identify it.

«Uh, I, live on the fourth floor.» she blurted out and the man's expression did not change whatsoever. Why would she tell him that? She wasn't planning on inviting him up, though she thought she should? Should she? That seemed like taking it too far, as lonely as she was, surely she had to have limits, especially when it considered her personal safety.

«It's not that bad; I don't spend much time here anyway. Obviously.» she shrugged, adding yet another useless fun fact to her monologue.

Internally groaning as if it would tune out the awkwardness, she stood there and felt him stare at her. Feeling the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of her jacket, she considered taking one. Just to have an activity, instead of merely standing there like an idiot. And so she did.

Working up some courage to end the insufferable silence, she lit her cigarette and took a deep drag;

«Is it intentional?» she asked. His face changed, just a little.

«What is?»

«Your staring, is it intentional?»

«It makes you uncomfortable,» he stated.

«Well, you're _staring_.»

«Just trying to figure you out, Murphy,» he repeated the line from before, a small smile on his face.

«By staring at me?»

«It got you talking, didn't it?»

«You could have just talked to me if that's what you wanted.» she mused.

«Then I would have gotten different answers,» he said plainly, leaning up against the wall beside them.

 _You didn't ask any questions._ She didn't know what to say to that; this made no sense. Putting the cigarette to her lips, she chuckled.

«You're the strangest stranger I've ever met.»

Before she could take a drag, he took the cigarette from her and put it to his own lips.

«You're the strangest librarian I've ever met,» he mumbled. Taking a drag he leaned his head back, blowing out the smoke, exposing his jawline and neck. She felt herself take a quick breath. Damn it, there it was again. There's a good reason she liked having him around and let him walk her home. One simple factor had brought her out of her hermit state, how good looking this stranger was. The conversations too, though he did enjoy making her uncomfortable.

«Now you're the one doing the staring, darling,» he said in that humorous low voice. She snapped out of it and met his eyes. She _had_ in fact been staring, shamelessly so. It was far from the first time and she knew he knew it.

«It's uncomfortable, isn't it?» she retorted in a voice that would indicate he would agree.

Stepping away from the wall with a shake of his head, he threw the cigarette away and for a minute he looked out on the street, making her think he was about to leave. Turning around he came closer. So much so that in her surprise she backed right onto the wall. With one hand on the concrete building, locking her in, he moved his face closer.

«You tell me,» he said dangerously. She tried with all her might to look back like she had done before, but she was too flustered to play along. Breaking eye-contact she felt her face blush despite herself and she turned her face away. She'd lost whatever game they'd been playing. This was maybe the third time they'd been this close and she didn't know how to deal with it. Of course, it was because of her insecurities, weird as he might be, there was that voice in the back of her head asking why he'd want to look at her like that, why would he want to touch her, why would he find her worthwhile.

«No, no, no,» he said softly and she sucked in a breath as his hand touched her cheek and turned her to him.

«Stay in it,» he said as she looked back at him. Though she thought she knew what he meant, she still wanted to ask him.

«Why do you like to watch me squirm so much?» she whispered, fully aware of how close they were.

«I'm having too much fun to stop.» she looked back at him as he gave a small smirk, and the way he was leaning in toward her made her face flush.

Again he came closer and though they hadn't been that close before she recognized his smell. It was a strange thing when she didn't even know his name yet his smell was so familiar. His nose softly bumped hers and she looked up at him for a mere second before his lips touched hers. If there was any space behind her she would've jerked back in surprise but a current went through her and she thought of resisting but the softness of his lips surprised her. She didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't this. It wasn't like the others she'd had. Kissing was always forced on her, every time she felt someone's lips meet hers it caused an alarm to go off. There was no alarm this time. She could've pulled away though if she really wanted to, but she didn't. The tension that had been building up between them ever since he came into the archives to steal those building plans had come to a boiling point. Like a rubber band being stretched slowly over a couple of months, it had now snapped. She was now confronted with her strange attraction to this strange man. The way he kissed her wasn't intrusive, despite the situation, it was soft as if he was asking for permission. He didn't seem like the kind of man that asked for permission. She was surprised again at the softness of his lips and the request. She took in a deep breath through her nose and kissed him back. A low hum could be heard from his chest as if he already knew what her answer would be. Yet again, he was right. The kiss though not hurried, turned deeper as she reached out to him, grabbing the lapels of his coat. As he pushed a hand to the back of her neck, she dragged her teeth gently over his lower lip. That seemed to do the trick as he answered by bending down and hooking her legs around his waist with a small growl. They were as close as they could get now with his body pressed up against her, heat radiating from him. What had started out as an almost juvenile kiss had turned into a full-on makeout session. Had she ever wondered if they had real chemistry or if he felt the same way, she certainly didn't have to wonder about it anymore. If she weren't so caught up on the way his arms held her, the smell of him around her and the way his kisses nearly took her breath away, she would have ridiculed herself for participating in this near desperate kissing. It was as if a switch had been flipped and she couldn't stop herself from asking for more. It was overpowering and if she were standing on her feet, her knees would have buckled. They both broke away for some much-needed air; her head was spinning. His breathing was as heavy as hers and he rested his head in the crook of her neck, she felt the warm breaths shower her skin. She let herself, for as long as it would last, feel comfortable and shamelessly enjoy the moment. If he was everything, she feared he was, so be it, at least she had a small moment of happiness. He spoke first with a spent voice that just about made her shiver;

«Now I'm wishing I could read your mind.»

«I thought you always knew what I was thinking?» she breathed with a smile.

He lifted his head up to look at her with a smirk. «Well, it's not all guesswork, darling.»

She bit her lip and turned away with a poorly suppressed smile.

Still, with that shy smile on her face, she shook her head and sighed. «Why'd you have to do that?» referring to the kiss.

Moving his face toward her again he smiled. That damn smile. «I've got a few reasons I can list..»

She shook her head defiantly. «You're this weird guy that shows up at my work-»

«That in itself doesn't qualify as weird, it's a public library.» he retorted, still inches apart from her.

«Sure, if you only used the main entrance.» she met his eyes again and my god how much she wanted to kiss him again. She didn't remember the last time she had wanted to kiss someone. Relationships, also the physical ones weren't her forte. When she touched him she could barely get herself to stop; he seemed to have the same reaction. If she kissed him again, they might just end up fucking next to the door of her apartment building. She had never experienced this explosive physical attraction. The shock she felt was more directed at herself than him.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her with his head to the side with that smile. That fucking smile was going to be the end of her.

Forcing herself to meet his shameless stare, she spoke her mind. «Everything about you just screams 'trouble.'»

His look remained unchanged as he spoke in a purr. «You're very perceptive.»

«So it's true?» she raised her brows and smiled, she couldn't keep it off her face.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a god-awful sound erupted from somewhere close to them and she drew a startled breath. He was still holding her up against the wall and it took her a while before she realized what it was.

«You gonna get that?» he smirked and she realized the sound that had so rudely interrupted her first time flirting was the ringtone of her shitty prepaid cellphone. It sounded like the intro to a children's show and it was impossible to change the damn volume. He let her down so she could frantically go through her pockets before she found it. Fishing it out of her pocket more to silence the noise than to actually pick up, she leaned back against the wall after realizing her legs didn't work so well. She looked at the screen and saw a familiar name;

«What's up?» she said hurriedly.

Martins tired voice answered. « _Hey, I'm sorry for calling you so late, I know you've had a long day-_ »

«I sense a 'but' here?» she cleared her throat, hoping this would be a short talk. Marlon stood there, hands in the pockets of his coat, he seemed more comfortable than her. He always did.

« _Yeah, unfortunately. Have you had time to stop by Maggie's?_ »

Damn it. She had forgotten all about that, the one thing she had to do that day except go to work.  
«Shit, I forgot. She hasn't been by today?»

« _No, still nothing._ » he sighed.

«I'm home anyway; I'll stop by now and let you know.»

Tired as he was, he sounded genuinely grateful. « _Thanks, Lou. Get some sleep though, take a damn sick day._ »

«I just might,» she said finally and smiled, hanging up the phone.

She let out a sigh and put the phone back in her pocket.

«Day's not over yet?» she turned to the smirking man.

She huffed as she went over to retrieve the bag she'd dropped sometime during the...previous activities.  
«Ah, no. Sorry, I have to check on my friend.»

She still felt his lips on her, his breath, his hands, the hum that vibrated in his chest. It made it impossible for her to switch over to any kind of conversation, especially when her whole body was taken over by a light shiver as if she hadn't eaten all day. Her knees were still wobbly and her brain mush. For someone who lived on minimal physical human contact, she might just have overdosed.

Looking back at the empty street behind them and back at him, she fumbled her words as she took a few clumsy steps back.  
«Uh, I'm sorry, I gotta go.»

He didn't say a word, just stood there with a knowing smile on his face and watched her walk away, her mind scrambled. Her footsteps echoing in the empty street the voice in her head telling her not to turn around, like a giddy school girl she did anyway and saw him stand there still, leaning against the same wall she'd been pressed up against. His smirk still present.

* * *

She'd gone to Maggie's and knocked on her door for a good while before unlocking the door and going in. Her mail had been collected, no rotten food in her fridge, her bed looked slept in. Yet, there was no sign of her. Half of her was worried and the other half knew what Maggie was like. There's a reason Lou had a spare key in the first place. She'd gone through every cupboard, every closet, under the bed, every little space with near meticulous paranoia. Some things were missing, but nothing out of the ordinary. Her bag, phone, a coat and a pair of shoes were gone, but that only told her that she had left the apartment. That alone wasn't suspicious unless it had looked as if she left in a hurry. By the state of her apartment, it looked like Maggie had gone out earlier that day as she would any day of the week. But if it was just like any other day of the week, why didn't she show up at the clinic? She decided to write a note and leave it on the kitchen table since Maggie wasn't bothering with checking her phone. Lou knew the place well, it wasn't any bigger than hers, but Maggie had a lot more stuff than her. Somehow it made the place look bigger instead of cluttered. After a good, while searching through her best friends place like a snooping mother, she decided to go home and take Martins advice of getting some sleep. Hell, maybe she should call in sick the next day. Not just for the extra hours of sleep, but anything to spite Lillian at this point.

Finally making it to her own apartment, she shut the door behind her and locked it. Kicking her boots off she got her phone out to call Martin with the non-news. He picked up on the third ring;

« _Hey, how'd it go?_ »

«Sorry, it took a while. She wasn't there; her phone was gone, her bag was gone but else than that everything looked normal.» she dropped her bag on the floor and stepped into the living room.

He sighed. « _Okay, I'll keep calling her though, just in case._ »

«Yeah, I'll go by again in a couple of days if she doesn't show.» she shook off her jacket and hanged it off one of the chairs by the table. In a fancier place, it might be called the dining room table.

« _How many times have we had to do this?_ » he sighed again.

She hummed. «Enough. You're not still at work, are you?» she looked down at her watch with a frown.

« _Just got off. A lot of traffic tonight so I stayed a few extra._ » she heard him get into his car.

Yawning she sat down on the chair in front of her and leaned on the table. She was beat, she had been that morning but now she'd reached a higher level of tired. She heard Martin keep talking and she gave the occasional sound to indicate she was listening, but she was about to fall asleep. She drew a breath to tell him goodnight, but something didn't seem right. She saw something that made her sit up straight and wake her eyes up. _Something._  
Suddenly alert, her heart started thumping in her chest. Her eyes slowly searched the room around her and stopped in front of her on the table. A bright color stood out from the rest of the room. A green box, a little smaller than a shoe box sat on the table. A gift box with a large, purple silk bow. Her eyes grew wide as questions raced through her head.

« _You haven't fallen asleep, have you?_ » Martins' voice snapped her out of it, taking a few steps back from the table.

«Uh, no. I might take you up on the offer of a sick day, though,» she mumbled, her throat dry.

She heard him talk, but his voice seemed to be drowned out as she slowly walked over to the box. If it was a bomb, it was wrapped really nicely.

«Yeah, I'll talk to you later,» she mumbled and ended the call. Slowly and carefully she leaned over and pushed it to the side using her phone. Nothing. She pushed it back again and still, nothing. It seemed heavy and that didn't have a soothing effect on her. Standing there she tried to prepare herself for the worst, whatever that could be. Someone had broken into her apartment, that alone was unnerving at best. She imagined tripwires, someone hiding in the dark, a bomb, hell even a threatening letter would be more than she could handle.  
With slow steps, she walked over to the box and let her fingers glide over the soft silk of the ribbon. She took a deep breath and pulled it, unraveling it and allowing her to take off the lid. With shaking hands, she put it on the table and looked to see more purple silk, covering the content. She let out a frustrated breath to cover up her whimper; this was probably the last thing she was supposed to do. What if something really had happened to Maggie? This is the kind of shit the mob does!  
Slowly she drew aside the silk sheet and took a quick step back. A handgun. Was she scared it would jump out and shoot her? Peering into the box, she saw it would be too small for a man, but just right...for her. Carefully she took it out of the box and she was right, it fit her perfectly. It had small carvings of flowers on the side and was brand new, clean silver. She couldn't deny it was pretty, for something meant to kill people.  
The real shock, confusion, and horror came when she looked back at the lid, where a note had been taped to the inside of it;

 ** _Be careful out there,_**

 ** _\- J_**


	5. Spellbound

Hey, lovelies! I'm back and with the longest chapter as of yet. I really thought when starting this chapter that it would be around 3k words shorter than it ended up as, but again, I doubt any of you will complain.  
I've had a really rough couple of months so from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for your feedback, for all of you who have favourited and/or followed this story. Every time I check my e-mail and it's from FanFiction, it makes my day. When I first came up with the idea to this story I had no idea I would come to care for it this much. I hope you enjoy this one!

* * *

She'd called in sick three days in a row before getting the rest of the week off on sick leave. It hadn't taken much convincing to make her doctor see she was exhausted. Though she sorely needed the time off work, it didn't feel great to have to pay a doctor to tell her what she already knew. The headaches that had been building up over the past few months had reached the point of psychical agony. Her jaw was constantly tight from grinding her teeth, and her eyes ached as much as her skull. The worst of the pain would come and go, but she was at her wits end. It felt like she was severely dehydrated and her brain was shrinking by the minute. No amount of water seemed to quench the thirst, and the pain went on.  
Despite being confined to her apartment, she wasn't getting much sleep. The box with the gun still sat on the kitchen table with its glaring colors, continually reminding her of its existence. She was scared to even walk past it; it was as if it was holding her hostage. The words written on the card kept going through her head like a song she couldn't stop humming. When she took a shower when she made dinner when she tried to sleep, constantly. It wasn't the gun in itself; she was used to guns. It was all the questions that came with the gift. The answer, one of them anyway, was right in front of her but she didn't know how to see it. Perhaps that's why she was so confused, or scared. Accepting the gift could be seen as an invitation for something more, and that was the source of her skepticism. She did need a gun, but she didn't need to owe anybody anything.  
There she was being held hostage by an inanimate object and everything it represented. The constant pain made it impossible for her to sit still and after punching a hole through her closet door, she knew she needed to get out of the apartment before she ended up burning it down in an attempt to escape the nagging headache and her own rambled thoughts. After frantically pacing around her apartment with a swollen fist she pulled on her jacket and grabbed her keys. She let out a loud sound of frustration before marching over to the box and picking up the gun. Not knowing where else she should put it she slipped it into the back waistband of her jeans and pulled her jacket over it. Almost forgetting about it, she shoved a small container of bullets into the pocket of her jacket. There was only one place she could go, only one place that ironically felt safe to her; the clinic.

For some odd reason she couldn't understand, it had a calming effect on her. That went against any sort of logic; she should in every way not be relaxed at a place where nobody would question an eventual assault. Maybe she had found calmness in the unexpected, or maybe that theory had been shot to shit with the appearance of that green box. She hadn't been back at the clinic for a few days, hoping she'd spend the remainder of her sick leave relaxing and not contributing to her exhaustion. When isolation didn't work, she opted for the opposite. Once she entered the break room in the back of the clinic, the fluorescent lights illuminated a head of long blonde and familiar hair. Though the hair was indeed usual, she felt her eyes sting with tears as Maggie turned around. Just like her, she looked sunken, tired and her cheekbones were so prominent she could have easily been mistaken for a patient. The lump in her throat grew as she looked at her best friend who stared right back at her with the same forlorn expression. The air was thick as none of them spoke a word, both shocked by the appearance of the other. Maggie had always been the yang to her yin, and now she saw her radiance turn dark like mud in a river. Maggie was her anchor, her lifeboat and if she lost her, she knew she'd also lose herself. Everything they had been through together seemed to pile up in front of her as a shitty summary of their lives. There she stood, the only constant in her life, the only light that hadn't been put out by the malevolent city in which they lived. She had spent the last six months deathly afraid of that light going out, cursing the city and those in it who profit from the suffering of well-meaning idealists just like Maggie. They stood there in the otherwise empty room, and she stared back into the eyes of her lifeline who stood there, eyes big and unmoving. Any frustration and anger she had against her disappearing friend vanished as Maggie mouthed her name. In a flash, she marched over and brought her in for a tight, overdue embrace.

«I'm sorry,» Maggie spoke weakly.

«Don't be,» she answered dismissively as she hugged the thin body she barely recognized.

«I am though, I've been a shit friend-»

«Don't do it again and we won't have a problem, okay?» she felt Maggie nod against her shoulder. They stood there for a long time, both feeling relief wash over them. Though they were both far from okay, they were in a sense okay as long as they had each other. That's how it had always worked and how it would still be. Much like sisters, they would always be connected even if they weren't together.

«Can we hang out again? Like we used to?» Maggie mumbled into her hair.

«Anytime,» she answered, «I'll cook, it doesn't seem like you've been eating much,» she grimaced as she felt the small body she was embracing. Louisa had always been little, but Maggie was much more athletically built.

«You gotta eat, you'll actually disappear if you don't,» Lou continued as she pulled away, stroking her arms.

«Says you,» Maggie sniffed and looked her over.

«Hey, don't deflect,» she smiled but saw Maggie's expression drop as she let out a long sigh.

«What happened to us, Louisa?»

«Haven't we had this conversation plenty of times before?» she sighed and sat down on one of the boxes by the back door, rubbing her face as if that would rid her of the ache behind her eyes.

«I know, but it's just getting worse,» Maggie shrugged as she walked over to sit next to her.

She continued with a huff. «It's fucked up how high school was our happiest time, who else can say that?» her lips smiled, but her eyes didn't follow as she pulled her sweater tightly around herself.

«Wasn't college supposed to be the best?» Louisa looked over at her.

«Was it though?»

«No,» she let out a small laugh.

«Life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't all bad, y'know? Now there's not even a glimpse of light.» Maggie looked out into the room with unfocused eyes. Louisa felt her jaw tense at her pessimism; it was more than a little unnerving.

«We'll figure this out somehow, we don't have a choice,» she tried to sound comforting but knew she didn't fully believe her own words. They were smack in the middle of a mob war; there wasn't any tutorial on how to avoid what she felt was an unavoidable disaster.

«Remember,» she looked over at Maggie who displayed a sad yet nostalgic smile. «When we first met?»

«In high school?»

«Yeah.»

«I don't know if I remember the exact moment, it was a long time ago.»

Maggie sat farther back on the box, still with that sad smile on her face. «You, uh, were trying out for the track team and the other girls were being real cunts,» she hummed a quiet laugh.

 _12 years earlier;_

 _Her breath echoed through the room. She paced the floor nervously as the sound of people cheering outside made its way into the otherwise empty locker room. It seemed like an echo chamber and only made her nerves more active. The second-hand gym clothes she was wearing were too big; she was practically swimming in the ridiculously large, orange t-shirt. The sleeves didn't stop 'till her elbows, and the hem was at her mid-thigh. Walking over to the mirror she stared at her flushed face and considered for only a moment if she could just run in her sports bra. If she was trying to avoid attention, wearing the obnoxiously colored XL t-shirt was, unfortunately, her best play. She gathered it up at her side and made a knot, holding it around her waist. Internally groaning, hoping some sense of confidence would find her she walked over to the sink and splashed her face with cold water. They did it a lot in the movies, why wouldn't it work now? As she wondered how she had been persuaded into this, the sound of girls chattering entered the changing room. Her jaw tightened, and she silently begged they would leave her alone. Staring down at the floor, her hope was shattered as someone called out;_

 _«Hey!» she turned to the voice and saw a red-haired girl, dressed in the work out clothes she would have worn if she had the means, holding a bottle of Gatorade and looking over at her with a slightly amused expression that conveyed the trademark condescension only a teenage girl could portray with such confidence._

 _«You're the new girl, right?» she smiled, though it was the sort of smile that told Louisa this girl was smiling at her more than being friendly._

 _«Yeah,» she said shortly, giving her a brief, tight smile._

 _The red-head huffed as she sat down on the bench to pull her hair free from its ponytail.  
«You live with the crazy cat lady, right?» she said in the same tone._

 _The orange-clad girl looked around confused, «Mrs. Russo, yeah-»_

 _«That explains a lot,» the girl snorted as she untied her seemingly brand new Nike's and giggling erupted from a few feet away from her, the redheads' entourage of similar looking girls stood in a clot to the side of them, poorly suppressing their laughter._

 _«You trying out?» she snapped her attention back to the other girl._

 _«Uh, yeah, any time now,» she mumbled back, nodding at the door._

 _«Good luck, I guess,» she scoffed as she pulled a fresh t-shirt over her head._

 _The girl took a sip of her Gatorade and stood up,  
«You might wanna to invest in some new shoes,» she came closer with a cocky smirk,  
«If you wanna be on the team, I mean,» she shrugged and took another quick look at her very worn out sneakers.  
Another round of laughter erupted from the other girls as the red-head joined them and their laughter could still be heard echoing the hall after the door closed behind them with a thud. She let out a tired sigh and looked down at her own shoes. The coach had even commented on them in front of everyone, but she didn't have any other shoes to run in. Trying to shake off the embarrassment to no avail she grabbed her gym bag and sat down on the bench. The sole of the right shoe was falling off and made a flapping sound when she walked, but she came prepared. Pulling a roll of grey duct tape from her bag, she tried as best as she could to fix it. It didn't fix the aesthetic, but it might help her through the try out so she could just go home and pretend as none of this had happened._

 _«What's your shoe size?» she whipped her head toward the voice and was surprised to see someone she didn't recognize. A blonde girl, a little but not much taller than her was leaning against the lockers to her right, smiling. She hadn't heard her come in and wondered how long she'd been standing there. With a flushed face, she looked down at her shoes and back up at her, hoping this wouldn't be another round of ridicule, she answered;_

 _«It's-they're seven and a half,» she croaked and cleared her throat. To her wide-eyed surprise, the blonde came over and promptly sat down right next to her with a beaming smile,_

 _«Perfect!» she started untying her own shoes and pulled them off her feet, putting them next to the duct-taped decay that wasn't in the category of footwear. Flustered, embarrassed and a little confused she looked at the blonde and back down at the shoes she seemed to offer her._

 _«You're Louisa, the new girl?» she looked up at her._

 _«Yeah,» she forced a smile._

 _«I'm Maggie,» she nodded, and the two girls shared a smile._

 _«You're on any minute, I'd take the shoes if I were you,» she smiled, a little amused. The blonde let out a small laugh when the confused girl didn't reply._

 _«Put the shoes on so you can go out there and kick ass! Personally, I'd love to see Charlotte's face when you do,» she hummed. The door out to the field and the tracks opened suddenly, and Louisa nearly fell back in her seat._

 _«Murphy, you're up!» the coach yelled before disappearing again and the massive door slam shut, leaving a heavy echo behind. Louisa felt her heart pound and looked over at Maggie and back down at the shoes she'd been offered before hurriedly taking off her own shoes to step in the newer, fresher and duct tape free pair. She inadvertently smiled to herself as she stood up from the bench and made her way to the tracks. In a hurry, she turned around to her helper._

 _«Oh, uh, thank you,» she mumbled as she looked down at the shoes and back at the girl who lent them to her. Maggie then got up from the bench with a smile and walked over, opening the door and letting all the noise from the outside fill the locker room._

 _«No problem, now all you gotta do is win,» she laughed, and the two girls walked out to the tracks, one barefoot and one with a renewed sense of confidence._

Present day;

She couldn't remember the last time she'd remember that. It was like opening the door to a room she wasn't quite sure she had been in before. Louisa let out a small laugh as the memories washed over her, «The coach was yelling at you, telling you to go put some shoes on, but you ignored him,»

Maggie sat up straight and beamed at her, «You remember that?»

She nodded back with that nostalgic smile, «Yeah, and much thanks to you, I did win.»

Maggie laughed «- _and_ you pissed Charlotte off, that was the best part.»

«She was a cunt,» they said in unison, causing them both to burst out laughing as the memories played before them. It was nice to have a moment like that, where they could just be two friends and not think about the mob or if they would make rent that month. The headache made it's way back up her spine and nestled itself behind her eyes, but she did her best to suppress is, to at least not react to it. She wanted to just have a nice moment without the ache. As they walked down memory lane and felt some sense of calmness move over them, the swing door opened and Martin stood in the doorway. The good vibes that had a mere second before filled the room died as they saw Martins expression.

Louisa was the first one to speak, «What's going on?»

«Mur- uh, Lou, I need to talk to you,» he sighed, and she couldn't tell if he looked scared or actually sad.

Maggie sat up with a frown and repeated Louisa's question. «Martin, what's going on?»

He shook his head and opened the door just a little wider, «It's alright, I just-» he looked over at Louisa. She nodded and got up from her seat to pick up her bag. Maggie looked just as confused as she felt and expected some sort of explanation. They were all on edge, at all times waiting for the worst to occur. What the worst was though, was at that point a mystery. That could be seen as a comfort, but it was hard to prepare for the unknown. She managed to remain calm, calmer than Maggie at least as she walked out of the room with a gloomy-faced Martin. He stopped right outside the doors of the surgery and seemed hesitant to open the doors. Standing in front of her he let out a sigh before looking around as though he was trying to figure out what to say. She had never seen him like that, not that he never showed emotion, but he was always the one who managed to keep his cool under stress or pressure. He was an ER doctor, for christ sake.

«You're scaring me, just spill it,» she breathed as she tried to lock eyes with him for some sort of reassurance.

«We got two patients in a couple of hours ago, mobsters,» he rubbed his face with one hand as he let out a long breath, this guy was exhausted.

«So, the usual?» she frowned.

«Yeah, well, that's what I thought first,» he looked around again before he pushed open the door to the surgery, «just, come in.»

She took a step into the familiar room; she'd spent hours there doing stitches, wiping blood and being punched in the face. There was a lot of blood even now, but no more than usual on a busy night. She turned to the left and saw another anonymous mobster on the examination table. After all those months she had gotten so used to seeing those men covered in blood and with fresh cuts to their face and body, she would probably be more scared to see them in one piece. He was clearly dead, it wasn't just evident from the amount of blood, but he wouldn't have been left there like that if he was alive. Even free clinics had some protocol. She curiously looked the man over. The same type of ridiculous suit every other Maroni guy wore, at that point, she couldn't tell any of them apart. It was 'the fat one' or 'the tall one.' This looked like a tall one. She turned to Martin, silently asking him if she was meant to recognize the man in front of her. He let out another breath and walked over to the counter only to come back with a plastic zip-lock bag.

«He had this on him,» he handed it to her with a worried expression. She looked at him with a frown, hadn't they already had this conversation? Taking the small bag from him, she recognized the blue patterns of the back of a blood-splattered playing card. Her shoulders sank in relief, and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She had no idea what she had expected, but this indeed wasn't a surprise. Everything up till that point had been very standard stuff, at least for someone who worked at a free clinic in Gotham.

She almost let out a laugh as she handed the bag back to him. «Martin, I know about this, I found one just like this-» but her voice died in a split second as she turned it around.  
Though she was still standing upright, it felt as though her knees had buckled. She knew right away what it was, but couldn't process it. It was like a whisper she was trying to ignore. Opening her mouth to speak she realized she had no words to utter. All she could do was stare at the card with growing confusion although she knew exactly what it meant. In her already aching head was a tug war between admittance and denial. Still, it was as if the truth was just out of reach for her, if it was because she couldn't reach it or didn't want to was the biggest question.  
The jester card she had expected when turning the bag around wasn't there. Instead, it was red with the picture of a woman. The Queen of hearts. Her breath stopped in her throat as she read the two words that made her whole reality crumble;

 _' FOR_

 _MURPHY '_

Martin broke the silence with a frustrated huff.  
«Christ, do you know what this is about? Should we be worried?» her wide-eyed gaze looked up to see him look back at her with concern.

«I don't-I don't know,» she managed to mumble before staring back at the card as if hypnotized.

«This guy knows who you are, Lou, this is not good,» he took a step closer.

«I'm aware of that!» she snapped, feeling the panic rise. She was shaking, thoughts rambled, and she felt the now well-known pain settle behind her eyes. Groaning she put her arms out to steady herself on the counter that wasn't there.

Martins' hand caught her arm to steady her as they looked back at each other, both confused but for different reasons.

«Are you okay?» he said, eyes intense and sincere.

«I, fuck, I need to get home,» she breathed as she shoved the bloody zip-lock bag into the pocket of her jacket.

«I think, this guy, is giving them to us, to _you_ ,» he looked back at her intently.

She forced out the breath she'd been holding with a grimace, «Like a _gift_?»

«He's been leaving cards on a dozen bodies, now he's changed, why would he do that?» he spoke calmly though his expression told her how worried he was.

Thoughts bombarded her one after the other, overwhelming her though she was already confused and she roughly pulled her arm back,  
«I don't know! I have no fucking idea, okay?!»

Picking up her duffle bag she tried to control her breathing, «I just need to get home,» she repeated, pushing the words out, her jaw tight.

«I'm not sure you should be walking home alone like this,» Martin shook his head and took a small step toward her.

Without missing a beat, she went to the back waistband of her jeans and pulled out her gun, holding it up by the grip to show him that she wasn't entirely without protection. His eyes went wide, and he took a step back as if he had never seen a gun before in his life.

«Woah!» he put his hands up slightly and seemed truly unsure of what was to happen. «You're carrying now?» he nodded toward the gun with big eyes, and she put it back in the into the hem of her jeans with a sigh.

«Seemed like the most reasonable thing to do, considering,» she shrugged.

«You think you're in a state to handle that gun?»

She sighed again and felt the frustration creep up; she needed to get out of that room and away from the dead body that was so casually laying in the background of their conversation. She needed to get her thoughts straight which ironically was what she had gone to the clinic for in the first place.  
«Fuck, Martin, I need to get home, I can't think here,»

He let out a breath as he shook his head, exasperated, «I can't force you to stay, just please be careful out there and call or text one of us when you get home for once, please.»

«Okay, yeah, I will,» she mumbled before the headache struck again and she turned to the door and out the exit of the clinic. She didn't have the strength to talk to Maggie about the ordeal; she was sure Martin would fill her in. The intense need to be alone in her own place was overwhelming, even more so than the headache. It was like being dizzy from hunger, she had one goal in mind, and that was to get back to her apartment. It was like a mantra that repeated itself over and over only to be interrupted by another nagging thought. A memory, more like it;

 _' Be careful out there. '_

A whisper that repeated itself over and over and she tried to push it out of her mind just as she pushed open the door to exit the clinic. It was as though she was trying to run away from all the noise, but the sound was in her head like an unwelcome visitor.  
Trying to walk down the street without stumbling was made even harder as she tried with all her might not to panic. It wasn't dark out yet, there was still a trace of dwindling daylight, and though it should have been a small comfort, it didn't seem to make a difference. It could have been a detail that should soften her paranoia; she was all too aware of the gun in the back of the waistband of her jeans and the feeling that she would have to use it soon. In a mere day, things had escalated so severely she couldn't keep a thought straight in her head; everything had been thrown up in the air with that bloody, in every sense, playing card. That name, that initial she had expected when turning the card over made her head spin, and she had to stop so she wouldn't fall over. The migraine that had developed slowly over the last few weeks was also becoming unbearable. Like a toothache where she wanted to claw her teeth out, now she felt like bashing her head against a wall to rid herself of the constant ache. Something was screaming at her, like a thought in her head that wanted to be noticed. Her breathing turned erratic as she desperately looked around the relatively busy street around her. A part of her wanted to shout out for help, as childish as that was. She heard herself whimper as she realized she had no idea where to go or what to do. Everywhere felt unsafe especially now when she couldn't get her thoughts straight. Fumbling a shaking hand into the pocket of her jacket she fished out a pack of cigarettes. The nicotine might not do much, but at least it was some sort of activity she could occupy her brain with. Lou opened it to take a cigarette out, and several things happened at once.  
She felt herself being pulled back roughly and managed to let out a short scream before a gloved hand covered her mouth. Terrified and confused she kicked and resisted as much as she could as heard someone shh-ing her softly. She was pulled farther back into the dirt-filled alley, and though she couldn't see much, she heard the sounds from the street dull as she was dragged farther away. The leather of his glove pressed hard against her mouth. Tears filled her eyes as she berated herself for not keeping her gun at the front of her body where she could access it easier and for once actually protect herself. What kind of gangster did she take herself for? She felt the dry mud under her shoes as she was pulled even farther in, into where she was sure no good thing was to happen to her. Her adrenaline was pumping, but she couldn't focus on anything but the damn dirt under her shoes. This is where she'd die. A back-alley in the soil like the other low-lives. The worst part was she couldn't even tell how she had ended up there. _Oh, fuck. I hope he just shoots me._ She forced her eyes shut and prepared herself for something. Like when you know there's going to be a loud sound, and you brace for it. The gun, the gun, the gun, she repeated in her head. When he lets her go, she could access her gun. All she could hear was her panicked heartbeat-

The voice spoke from behind her and she opened her eyes in a flash.  
« _Now_ , I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, and you're going to be nice and quiet.»

She was beyond surprised by his voice; she had expected a heavy accent and a demand for money or something of a sexual nature. His voice was calm and he spoke slowly, like a purr. His voice. Her breath caught in her throat and she resisted the urge to cough. _  
_When she failed to provide him with some sort of answer, the hand that was clasped over her mouth moved her head up and down as to nod for her as if she were a doll. She stood as still as she could, though her mind was racing just as fast as her heart. The hand was removed from her mouth and she took in a deep breath as she felt some distance grow between her and her assailant. The loss of contact was a relief though she realized how dizzy and disoriented she had become, she stumbled forward a couple of steps before trying to steady herself. It was quiet, the only sound to be heard was her heavy breathing and the last thing she wanted to do was to turn around. In that little moment, she was technically okay and she knew that would change when she turned around. She went to take a step to the side when the dizziness came back and she lost her balance. Putting her arms out to catch herself, she felt his arms around her yet again.

«Woah, woah, c'mere,» he muttered as he helped her stand up and lean her against a wall.

She felt his voice murmur humorously in her ear.  
«Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?» he giggled. He _giggled_. He stepped back and she could hear him still chuckling to himself. Again, with her back to him, she closed her eyes tightly and stood so still as if it meant she would disappear. As if she didn't move, she'd become invisible. The sharp pain in her head increased again and she pushed the palms of her hands onto her temple with a small groan.

Through the pain, she heard him ask calmly, «Headache?»

«Yeah,» she answered in a grumbled voice laced with discomfort.

«There are pills for that.»

«Well, the pills don't work!» she snapped back and turned to him before she knew what she was doing. Whatever she was going to say next died in her throat. If she wasn't already leaned against a wall, she would have stumbled. Her annoyance dissipated and changed to confusion and then curiosity mixed with fear. The only sounds to be heard was the muted noise of cars passing by and her heavy breaths coming out in an erratic rhythm. She looked him up and down with wide eyes and he merely stood there as if that was precisely what he had expected. It was him alright, _'Marlon'_ , just a very different version of how she knew him. He looked cartoonish. His face, though recognizable was sloppily painted white. Like that thick face paint, you'd use on Halloween when you were a kid. Black color around his eyes and a blood red paint marking his mouth and highlighting his scars. She had to look away; he was eyeing her, seeing her reaction. The glaring colors of the gift he'd left her seemed to fit into a theme. He was wearing a suit, a three-piece suit in the same purple color as the box. With bright green details, it couldn't be more glaring if he'd dressed up in neon and worn a sign with blinking lights. It was a fucking costume.

«Nice suit,» she muttered as she looked away. He was eyeing her intently and although she didn't know what reaction he wanted, she didn't want to give it to him. There were so many apparent questions hanging in the air it certainly didn't help her already throbbing headache. Although she wasn't looking at him anymore, his now painted face flashed before her and the playing card that literally had her name on it felt heavy in her pocket.

«I'm glad you like it and the uh, gun,» his voice remained unchanged.

«The _other_ gift wasn't so well received though,» she bit out but let out a laugh at her choice of words, though it sounded more tired than scared.

She heard him take a small step closer, gravel crunching under his shoes, «No? Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you.»

« _Sweet,_ » she muttered again and had to take a few deep breaths so as not to panic completely.

Seemingly oblivious to her deterioration, he took another step closer and she saw the purple-clad man move in her side vision.  
«Well, _I_ think so.»

A wave of nausea hit her and she suppressed the need to gag as she slid down the wall to sit on the ground. «Ah, _fuck_.»

Pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes, she was painfully aware of the looming character watching her. «Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.» she cursed with gritted teeth.

When she opened her mouth to speak again it was more to herself than him;  
«Here I'm judging Maggie for her shitty decision making and here I am with some weirdo-»

«If you keep calling me weird I might just take it personally,» she snapped her head up to meet his eyes.

His dark eyes seemed to lock her in place and she was struggling between wanting to get up and run or keep looking back at him. Her breath caught in her throat and she spoke as if hypnotized, «You don't seem like the kinda guy whose feelings I can hurt,» she retorted.

«You shouldn't try so hard then,» he quipped with his hands casually in the pockets of his trousers as he looked up at her and then at the ground, kicking some dirt away from his feet. It was a childlike act, but she knew he was no child. It turned a sweet gesture into an ominous one.

«What?» she grimaced. Were they making jokes now? She turned her face away and tried to figure out the situation she was in. Why was he there and why was she? Who was this guy really because she was entirely sure of one thing, he was not the guy she'd met in the darkness of the library archives.

Her jaw set, she looked straight ahead and away from him,  
«You gonna off me or...? What's the plan here?» she mumbled, and immediately he let out a high pitched laugh that made her turn to look at him in pure reflex.

«You think I'm gonna _kill_ you?» he looked at her with wide eyes, seemingly genuinely surprised. A little relieved she actually felt a bit stupid for asking but wasn't sure why. Everything that was so obvious to him was blurry at best to her. It seemed that worked both ways.

«That's a natural assumption considering!» she felt a lump in her throat and her eyes water, her voice failed her slightly as she practically cowered.

She felt him come closer and bend down to her, so close she could smell him and it annoyed her how familiar that scent had become. She was so embarrassed but apparently not embarrassed enough to attempt an escape. With a sigh, he carefully brushed a curl of hair out of her face and she felt her whole body tense.

«I just wanted to see you, Murph,» he said with the softest tone she'd ever heard from him. She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry at that, but when her eyes stung, she realized she had gone for the latter.

Tears rolled down her face and she didn't know if it was a result of the relief that he wouldn't kill her or disappointment in herself for her choice in men.

The more she tried not to cry, the more she cried.  
«You didn't have to drag me into an alley looking like that, I'm having a real bad fucking day as it is,» she was embarrassed over how raw her voice was.

«Okay,» he said quietly and sat down on the ground next to her. She drew in a quick breath as she felt his gloved hand carefully touch her face and flinched slightly as he wiped her face free of tears with a handkerchief. He cooed her and _comforted_ her which only led her farther into confusion. She felt like an inconsoleable child, but at least he wasn't making fun of her.

«I'm not gonna hurt ya,» he continued softly.

«Then what the fuck?» she croaked, still not looking at him. «I don't _know_ you.»

«I'm not one of the bad guys, baby,» he sighed.

«You cut up mobsters for a living, what the hell could you want with me?»

He chuckled. «You don't have to play coy.»

She turned to him in a flash, frustration overriding her fear. « _What?!_ »

«You didn't like the gift then?»

« _No._ » she shook her head and stared at him in disbelief. He had to know what he did would only make things harder for her, was she supposed to be grateful?

«Why not?» he asked merely though still with that mild tone.

She shook her head again in disbelief. «You can't just- slice people up and hand them to me, to the clinic, what kind of reaction do you expect? How'd you think I'd react to finding a dead man carrying a card with my name on it?»

«You feel bad for him?»

« _No,_ » she narrowed her eyes at him, frustrated that he didn't see what was so evident to her.

«Then what's the matter?»

She shifted where she sat. «I just don't appreciate the gesture!»

«So it's not about him, about the uh, _people_ I hurt?»

« _No!_ » she groaned.

«You got no problem with that?»

«You know I don't. I just- _fuck_ , now you're just adding to my headache,» she groaned again and clenched her teeth.

«I'm just trying to see your side of things, doll.»

She scooted slightly away from him and put her head in her hands, hoping, almost praying the ache would stop. It wasn't "merely" the pain at that point, the frustration he inflicted on her was just as bad. She didn't want this. If they could go back to the library and talk like they used to, she'd be more than happy. Was it her attraction to him that kept her there or was it fear? She didn't feel all that scared; she had to admit.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and though she felt his eyes on her, she stared straight ahead.  
«Can I ask you an obvious question?» she asked plainly.

«Ask away,» he nodded.

«What's with the get-up? I thought you said Batman was a joke for the same thing?»

He chuckled and moved from side to side as if he was trying to get into more comfortable position. «You just answered your own question, doll.»

She grimaced confused at him and opened her mouth to express said confusion, but thought better of it and shook her head.

«You're just adding to my headache by being cryptic,» she mumbled.

He sucked his teeth at that. «I've been nothing but open and honest, Murph. Trust is a two-way street.»

The slight condescending tone made her snap as she turned to him.  
«You don't think my confusion is justified?! Are we living on two different planets?! How the hell do you see this...situation? How do you _want_ me to see it?»

He stared right back at her with no humor in his tone.  
«I want you,» he breathed, «to be _honest_.»

«I haven't lied to you once,» she retorted.

He pushed himself back against the wall like a cat stretching and shook his head.  
«Not talking about lying, baby, withholding the truth counts as dishonesty,» he added and his attractive charm only added to her annoyance.

«Then _what_ do you want?» she added pressure to each syllable in a staccato rhythm.

«Your truth and uh, well,» he shrugged with an easy, simple smile on his lips, « _you_.»

Looking back at him she sighed, «You make it sound like I'm a collector's item.»

He smirked, «You're a rare one, I can't argue with that.»

She sat there staring at the ground for a while not knowing what to say or what she wanted to say. It was a strange sort of disappointment she felt seeing this version of him or rather the real version of him. She had a feeling he was not merely one guy she could pin down as someone definite. Yet, she found this unfamiliar man so familiar, even their discourse though confusing went so smoothly it was almost as if they already knew each other. He was apparently aware of it, and so was she. He kept looking at her as if she already knew what he was thinking, that smart smirk as if he also knew what she was thinking. There was no use in lying to someone who already knew the truth and so she hadn't.  
Slowly she got up from her awkward position on the ground and felt her knees ache from the change. She awkwardly brushed some of the dirt off her jacket and looked around for her cigarettes. Patting the pockets of her jacket, she found one single smoke that was broken in two and took a step away from the wall to look over the ground around her for a lighter.

«Looking for something?» she heard him smirk from behind her.

«Yeah, well, I lost my cigarettes when you manhandled me,» she huffed and took another shaky step toward the entrance of the alley. It took maybe a split second before he was next to her handing her a smoke. Startled she took a quick step back and stared back at him. He shook the cigarette at her and she hesitantly accepted like a scared animal. Her mind was constantly churning whenever she was around him, her attraction to him was evident but so was her skepticism. The two sides were always fighting each other for control. She pulled her lighter out of her pocket only to drop it on the ground due to her shaky hands. It rolled down into a puddle five feet away and sighed as she took a step forward to retrieve it. His hand softly on her arm stopped her and she turned to him. He waved her over, meaning to light it for her but she stood still.

«Let me light your damn cigarette,» he sighed and she moved closer just enough so he could light it.

«Thanks,» she mumbled and blew out the smoke as she went back to lean against the wall. A quick, random thought went through her head and she grimaced at her inner giddiness;

 _He has really nice eyes._

Like a hawk, he picked up on it and mirrored her posture, leaning his back against the wall.

«You okay?» that same damn smooth voice echoed through the small space. She wished that voice did nothing to her, but it seemed to get into her brain and repeat itself on a loop. It was such a paradox to her that there were so many signs telling her to stay away from this man and yet she felt oddly safe with him. So safe she wanted nothing more than to physically lean on him for support instead of the cold brick wall behind her.

Trying to sort out her inner turmoil, she laughed at the absurdity of her situation and looked straight ahead.  
«I don't know. What the fuck am I gonna do now?»

He turned to her, his shoulder on the wall and murmured without missing a beat, «Me, hopefully.»

Involunteerly letting out a gasp she slapped his arm with an involuntary smile slowly growing on her lips.

«You're fucking shameless!»

«It's one of my many redeeming qualities,» he smiled and raised his gloved hands in a mock defense.

«The fact that you think that's a redeeming quality says a lot about you,» she put the cigarette to her lips and tried to ignore how close they were.

His breath was suddenly fanning the side of her face and she didn't have time to suppress the chill that ran down her spine before he asked,  
«That mean you don't _like_ me anymore?»

«No, I- it's not-» she fumbled and when she turned to see his self-assured smirk, she realized the mistake she'd made.

«Oh, fuck you,» she grimaced and stood up straighter as she threw the cigarette away.

«So you do like me?» he grinned.

«Earlier you accused me of fishing for compliments, don't be a hypocrite,» she mumbled and refused to look at him though she could feel his eyes on her. It seemed they never left her.

«Kiss me,» he said suddenly and she couldn't hold back the slight jolt that went through her at the surprise and suddenness of his request.

«No,» she said plainly as she looked straight ahead, though she knew that wouldn't be the end of it and she didn't _want_ that to be the end of it.

«You telling me you don't want to?» he continued in the same, calm purr.

«I'm saying no 'cause I shouldn't be touching you in the first place,» she muttered, trying not to let frustration get to her. At least trying not to let it show.

«You shouldn't be touching me?» his tone changed as if he thought that was the most ridiculous thing to say.

«No,» she felt her face throb, both because of the embarrassment and the continuing headache.

«I think you should, doesn't my opinion count?»

«Not when you're a hardened criminal with ulterior motives.»

She felt him move his face even closer and his breath fanned her cheek, he must have noticed what that did to her.

«Mm, what do you know about my motives?» he hummed and she felt it vibrate through her.

«What if,» he continued and scooted even closer with a whisper, «I just _like_ you?»

Clenching her teeth, she wished he'd stop going out of his way to challenge her. «I can't take that chance,» she mumbled.

A genuine smile spread across his features and he let out a small laugh. «You're surrounded by mobsters every day _and_ night, but it's me that's the problem?»

She scoffed and turned her face to him having forgotten how close he was. «I don't get involved with them like this!»

Without missing a beat, he moved his face to hers like a snake and purred with hooded eyes. «Like this?»

«Goddammit,» she sighed as she turned away yet again, frustrated with him as well as herself.

«I'm not gonna hurt ya, darling. I just wanna see what's hiding behind those pretty blue eyes,» he continued in the same tone and though she believed him more than she didn't, she couldn't try to convince herself that this was in any way a good idea.

She clenched her jaw and heard her voice crack if not just a little, «Dammit, I really liked you and-»

«I really like you too, so how about we cut the bullshit, _hm_?» he said soothingly and it was hard for her having him that close. It was as if she felt compelled to touch him like it would be the natural thing to do and if she were, to be honest with herself, it _would_ be the logical thing to do. They both liked each other, they had more than a little chemistry and when he said he wouldn't hurt her, she trusted that. It was downright magnetic.

She sniffed and stared straight ahead as she spoke to him. «I'm not kissing you with all that stuff on your face.»

«No?» he asked humorously.

«No,» she shook her head.

«That's too bad, I didn't bring my makeup remover,» he hummed and sucked the side of his mouth as if he was pretending to contemplate a solution.

She could only shrug as a response and pushed herself away from the wall mostly to get some distance between them. This had to be the point where she left and went home. What else would they do other than talk circles around each other, both of them convinced they themselves were right and their logic the only truth. She peered out to the street and the dwindling daylight and then back at him who stood there patiently, hands in his pockets. A knowing smile on his lips that didn't even annoy her anymore, she knew he could read her like an open book and at that moment she was glad he could. Her face must have told him what she couldn't or wouldn't say with words. Although she barely recognized him at first with the paint and the fancy, strangely colored suit, he was familiar to her. Putting the weirdness of the situation aside, the way they talked to each other made it seem as though they already knew each other. Even if they bickered, it was a smooth interaction as if it was scripted. She was so frustrated with him and he so amused by her frustration. Now he was looking back at her with a calm, almost understanding expression. The kind of look that truly made her wonder if he could, in fact, read her mind. Again she looked out at the street with conflicting feelings.

She mumbled a curse to herself before turning around and promptly walking right up to him and pulled him down for a kiss. She wasn't thinking, at least that's what she told herself. The warmth of his lips surprised her as she realized what she was doing. As if that was precisely what he'd been expecting he reacted immediately and placed a hand on her back, moving her closer. It was just like the last time; there was a sort of reassurance in the way he kissed her. She couldn't for the life of her explain how or why, but it felt so damn good despite the insane situation she was in. How messed up did she have to be to practically melt in this mans arms? Gathering her in his arms, he took a few steps back without breaking the kiss and sat down on a stone boulder, pulling her on top of him. She kissed him with a desperation that she didn't recognize or really understand. Whenever she was near him, all she felt compelled to do was touch him. Even earlier in the library all those months before had she had the same urge and despite the fact that she was touching him now, she still had that sour pit of shame and embarrassment in her stomach. The inner turmoil did little to stop her though as his hand on her lower back moved her even closer to him. It was hard to be embarrassed over how much she wanted to touch him, be near him when his need more than matched her own. Every little sound he made only spurred her on. Arching her back and minimizing the space between them she slipped a hand to the back of his neck, urging him even closer. She let out a soft moan as his lips moved from hers to her jaw and then her neck. The warmth he emitted surrounded her like a blanket and the sense of security she had around him was only verified. As she tugged at the lapels of his coat, he moved his face up to hers again and his hot breath fanned her face. She was not in any way prepared for the low growl he emitted as he spoke one simple word;

« _Perfect._ »

She had no time or ability to react before he closed in and fervently kissed her. When she touched him, it seemed to cut all the control she worked so hard to maintain. As for him, it didn't seem to bother him one bit. At that point, his slight smugness didn't face her as long as she got to cling to him and kiss him as desperately as she desired. Their erratic breaths echoed through the air as they made out like two hormonal teenagers. All until she felt a cold, gloved hand move under her shirt to rest on her back. A painful jolt shot through her as she pulled away and let out a sharp breath. The pain stung behind her eyes and before she could understand what she was feeling or what she was doing, she stumbled off him and scrambled to her feet. The pain kept coming and hit her so rapidly she felt as though she was drowning. She stumbled around as if she was blind until she felt a brick wall against her shoulder. Painful tears rolled down her face and she felt her teeth grind together. It was as if there was an alarm blaring in her head and she had no way of turning it off. Even then she could still feel the ghost of his touch and his warmth that had surrounded her mere seconds ago. Just like that, she was pulled back to reality, back to remembering who he was. Or more accurately, _what_ he was. Leaning her body against the cold wall, she let out a half-sob as she tried to stabilize her eyesight by focusing on a small rock on the ground in front of her. Thought her vision still vibrated and seemed to have a sort of glitch, at least she could see well enough. Her face still throbbed and she really wanted and needed to get herself home. Knowing who was there with her and how she had just moaned against his lips, made her sad. Incredibly sad. A piece of her now as she had unveiled parts of his mystery was disappointed. Disappointed and hurt for so many reasons it overwhelmed her. Her whole life she had worked so hard not to fall into the darker parts of Gotham and here she had walked right into it.  
She slowly turned to him, trails of tears down her face. Just then she was reminded of why she had walked right into the darkness of Gotham. He sat on the boulder, tie half-way undone, a few of the buttons on his shirt unbuttoned, his hair even messier than usual and his face paint smudged. His lips were parted, his chest and shoulders moving in a steady rhythm, breathing hard. When they looked back at each other, she saw empathy in those dark eyes. Empathy and a strange sort of curiosity. She inadvertently let out a small noise of complaint as she turned away from him. This odd man was so beautiful she could cry. Even with the ridiculous suit and the face paint he looked so damn good. Even when she felt as though her head was about to explode there was a big part of her that felt the whole world slow down every time she looked at him.

Letting out a few harsh breaths she forced her eyes shut as another wave of pain hit her,  
«I need to go home,» she forced the words out and moved away from the wall. She didn't waste any time saying goodbye as she walked out toward the street. It was darker out at that point as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, breathing in a stable rhythm and moving down the street as fast as she could without running. Her head was spinning as she turned a corner and hurriedly wiped her tears with the sleeve of her jacket. She clenched her fist as she kept moving, but felt something strange on her fingers. Coming to a sudden stop and nearly being hit by a screeching car she took a few quick steps back before looking down at her hand. Once she saw the color she knew what it was, she had forgotten all about it. White greasepaint stained her hand and the sleeve of her jacket, it seemed to make it all very real, very fast. Her shaky hands went up to her face in an attempt to wipe it off, but it stuck like glue. Clenching her fists yet again she kept the myriad of emotions in check as she clenched her teeth, found her legs and continued walking with one purpose; to be in a familiar, confined space with nobody else around.  
As she briskly marched down the darkened street, she was not aware that she was being watched. A smooth shadow of purple kept it's distance as she stumbled her way to her apartment.


	6. Them There Eyes

**Authors note:** Hello again. This chapter took a while, I ended up rewriting it. I want to leave a note for the readers who have followed me for a while and those who read the original chapters from before the major rewrite I did. The last scene in this chapter is from one of the older chapters. I've written about this before, but there will be reuse of certain scenes. I understand that it might be a bit boring when you're expecting a new chapter, but the farther we get in the story the less I'll reuse scenes. As always, I hope you'll like this one!

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She had to close her eyes for a moment as she wiped the sweat from her face with a labored breath. It was as though she was stuck in a hermetically sealed sauna and every time she exhaled a hot breath she felt she was adding to the problem. The thin cotton blouse stuck to her back as if glued and she dreaded having to stand up from her leather chair. With gloved hands, she carefully placed another book in the trunk by her feet. She had to be quick, but if she rushed she risked doing permanent damage to the same books she was trying to save. The small lamp she used to illuminate the pages seemed to add to the temperature of the library basement. The two doors that led out of the archives were heavy security doors, both with alarm systems you'd need to take a course to understand. Despite the heat, she was given strict instructions not to open the one door that led outside. For security reasons, though she was sure Lillian felt inclined to enforce that rule. That only added to the feeling of being stuck in a sauna as she was working with books and documents that needed a specific temperature and air humidity so as not to crumble. The cooling system was bust and though she had spent two hours trying to fix it herself she had to give up. It wasn't like any other AC you'd find in an apartment, there was a control room in the back of the archives where the temperature was carefully controlled. Though she had talked to Lillian after failing to fix it herself, she was as condescending and nonchalant as ever. Everything Lillian said seemed to be cloaked in insults and she strongly insinuated that it was the loyal archivist's fault for not having been there. In the week and a half she'd been off work and the heatwave had hit, the archives were left as they were and no one, Lillian, had bothered to check the archives for temperature change. Normally, when she was working, it had to be checked twice a day and now she had no idea how many days the priceless content of the room had been left to boil. As quickly and carefully as she could she put the last book in the large metal trunk with the others and got out of her chair. There was a smaller, but most importantly colder room by the control room and her plan was to put the most important and priceless books and documents in there until they could deal with the broken temperature regulator. As clever as that improvised plan was, having to haul the heavy and damn near immovable metal trunk out to the cold room was exhausting. She ended up pulling it along the floor bit by bit, it only moved a few inches each time and if she wasn't sweating before she sure was now. By the time she had gotten the second trunk in the room she was just about drenched in sweat and had problems breathing the heavy air. She stood there, looking at the two trunks she had pushed into the room that was so small it worked more as a cot and realized there was no way she'd be able to fit anything else in there. Her grand plan of saving the collection of the archives was shot to shit. More drops of sweat rolled down her face and she looked down at her torso to see her white blouse so wet it was see-through and clinging to her bra. Of all the fucking days to wear a black bra, she'd chosen that day.

The little 'vacation' she had before coming back to work may have eased the migraines a little, but now that she was back she was pulled right into a state of constant sorrow. Calling it a depression didn't sound right to her, she was just so sad all the time. Despite the 100 degrees heat, she had a coldness stuck in her chest that wouldn't budge. Though she was more than a little busy at work, all she wanted was to lay down in a cool corner and cry. Being exhausted and completely spent by the work alone made her sporadically have to bite the inside of her cheek to stop her from crying. She felt weak, little and empty.  
The now heaving girl leaned against a wall and tried to regain her breathing when she heard a strange crackling sound echoing in the room. She wiped her face with her hand and turned toward it. It sounded like aluminum foil being wrapped and she frowned as she looked behind her into the control room. When she found the source of the sound she inwardly sighed before entering a sort of controlled panic. By the side of the control panel was a large exposed wire that hissed out sparks every few seconds. Though the last thing she wanted to do was go and talk to Lillian again, it seemed she had no choice. She half-jogged her way to Lillian's office and this time she didn't bother to knock. A wave of dizziness hit her and her vision went black for a few seconds as she opened the door and stepped in. The first thing that hit her was cold and crisp air. Breathing heavily she looked around and saw three fans spread across her boss' ridiculously sized office, all at full speed.

«If it isn't Minnie Mouse.» The least sweaty person in the room looked up at her with a tight and likely annoyed smile. Confused for a moment she felt the white gloves stick to her hands and got the reference.

«Have you called the technicians about the control board?» she breathed and closed her eyes for a few seconds to just feel the coolness of the fans wash over her face and chest.

«Several times, unfortunately, they are not answering,» Lillian said sharply and signed a document in front of her with added force. If it was the technicians or her archivist she was annoyed at, no one knew.

«Okay, well,» Murphy sighed and shifted where she stood. «We have to cut the power-»

«Cut the power?» Lillian looked up at her with raised brows.

She nodded. «There's an exposed wire on the control panel, it's a fire hazard so we have to cut the power 'till they get here.»

«Doesn't it have its own power source, though?» Lillian frowned, it was a good question.

She swallowed hard, there wasn't time for this.  
«It should have, but that's not the way it was built in so it runs off the same power as the rest of the building.» She wanted to remind her that it was Lillian herself who had been responsible for the way the control panel was built in as that was the first task she had when she took over the job as library director.

«There's a heatwave, I can't just cut power to the whole building, people can't work like that,» The redhead sighed as she sat back in her chair.

Murphy felt her jaw tighten. In the two years she'd worked for Lillian they had never gotten along and there had been many times when she had seriously considered punching her in the face, but seeing her there in her chair, three fans on while wearing a fucking blazer as if to underline what a bitch she was, she had serious problems holding herself back. Lillian was like a scorned teenage girl, she did everything to spite.

She felt herself grin and spoke in a strained laugh.  
«I've worked like that for two days, and I'm fine! Think of it this way, if we don't cut the power we might lose everyone in this building _and_ the books,» knowing how much the books were supposed to mean to her, Murphy hoped she'd see reason.

Lillian let out another breath as she sat up and reached for the phone. «Okay, you know what, I'll try them again.»

A strained silence fell over the room before, lo and behold, someone answered. Lillian explained the situation, but of course, had to throw in a few jabs at Murphy in the process.

Hanging up the phone with a click, Lillian looked up at her with her signature smile.

«They picked up, but they won't be here 'till tomorrow morning, unfortunately,»

«Okay, then we need to turn the power off,»

«I was thinking, the archives are your place, why don't you just keep an eye on it?» she suggested in a light voice.

Murphy shifted and frowned. «You want me to babysit a live wire while in a furnace?»

Before Lillian could even draw a breath to answer, the sweaty girl took a step forward and looked at her with big eyes.

« _Surely_ they'll prioritize the most historical building in the city?»

«It's not in my job description to do your job, Louisa. You should be in control of the control room, right?» she shrugged and looked at her in a way that told Murphy she was asking for her to lose it, to snap. She did neither, just walked out the door and headed downstairs, back to the scorching pit of hell. The only little satisfaction she gave herself was to 'accidentally. slam the door to Lillians office on her way out.

What seemed like an eternity later, she had stashed as much as she could in the cot and stood still in the control room, staring at the exposed wire. The headache that had plagued her for months was sneaking up on her again and she berated herself for not having drunk enough water throughout the day. It was getting increasingly harder to breathe, it was as though she was slowly suffocating. She stared at the same spot on the floor with blank eyes, the occasional sparks that came from the exposed wire reminded her of a crackling fireplace. Feeling drops of sweat run down her neck she had no need to be thinking about fire or any source of heat at all. A wave of frustration hit her and she felt that well-known lump form in her throat. She didn't want to take shit from Lillian, she never did with anybody else. Problem was, Murphy needed this job and the money that came with it. It wasn't much, but it was considerably more than she'd get for teaching or writing. Lillian, of course, knew all of this and held it over her at every opportunity she got. If she fought back, even shot back at her insults her work life would be made a lot more difficult than it was. She knew Lillian got off on it in a sick way, of being in charge. Everything a famous surname and a narcissistic personality could get you and Murphy had neither.  
Pushing herself away from the wall she took a sharp breath as her vision blurred. She closed her eyes and blinked a few times, but felt the lack of oxygen caught up with her. Her breaths became more erratic until she couldn't breathe at all. It was too late not to panic as her knees buckled and she threw her arms out to the wall in an attempt to hold herself up. The longer she was stumbling around the room heaving, the more she'd panic. Managing to get out to her office she ran down the hall to the back exit. Looking at the alarm to the security door and the number panel, she started punching in the eight-digit code with shaking hands. When the door buzzed she threw herself at it and fell on her hands and knees out by the concrete stairs. The slight breeze brushed over her and she had never in her life experienced relief like that. Her skin felt like it had literally been boiling and she could feel how her body temperature was dropping. Slowly she regained her breath as she sat slumped down in the doorway, her legs out on the steps. She knew how hot it was outside but after being in the sealed room for so long it felt damn near chill. Wiping her sleeve over her face to get rid of the sweat that had accumulated she sat there and waited for her breathing to stabilize. She sounded asthmatic, every breath sharp and shallow. This was a new low, it was far from an epiphany. She was killing herself over a job she didn't even like. In the beginning, it seemed ideal, she got to work with something she found interesting and there was minimal contact with others. After years of retail and coffee shop jobs, she couldn't wait to work in solitude. A couple of years later Lillian Elliot walked in as the new director of the library and for whatever reason, she went out of her way to make Murphy's simple, sometimes tedious job a real pain. This was supposed to be her easy job, compared to the clinic. Sometimes she didn't know who got to her the most, Lillian or the mob.

«You'll have to close that door,» she didn't have to turn around to know whose voice that was.

« _For fuck sake_ ,» Murphy whispered exasperatedly and didn't move from her spot. She wasn't sure she even could.

The sound of heels clicking against the wooden floors told her Lillian was approaching.  
«You know you can't leave the door open, there are valuables here,»

Closing her eyes and hoping she'd just leave, Murphy still had her back toward her.  
«I'm not leaving it open, I'm right here. I need oxygen to function.»

«I can understand that, but it seems pretty aired out by now.»

She felt her jaw tighten as she turned to her.  
«In another five to ten minutes I'll be suffocating again-»

She interrupted herself to stand up and take a step inside, the door slammed shut behind her. Just to look at the ridiculous contrast between her and the woman in front of her. Murphy's white blouse was soaked, the thin fabric sticking to her black bra making her look like she was recreating a scene from Dirty Dancing. Her otherwise curly hair was forced in a high bun and stray locks seemed glued to her forehead and neck. Lillian, on the other hand, looked immaculate. Like a Bond girl who's cover was working at a library though having no interest in literature. Not a drop of sweat on her face, her tailored clothes without a single crease.

«You're welcome to join me here if you'd like since you're so worried about the valuables,» she gave her one of her own tight smiles and pushed past her to get to her workstation inside the archives. With a controlled rage, she tidied up and gathered her things in her bag. She had to get out of there as soon as possible, if not she'd either die of the heat or physically attack her boss. She felt Lillian stand there, apparently, the conversation wasn't over.

«Are you leaving? Your shift ends at eight,» there was no surprise in her voice and she swore she could hear a smirk in her voice.

«Well spotted, I am,» Murphy breathed as she walked around inspecting the room just like she did any other day before leaving.

«I'll put it down as another sick day, then,» she said cooly, matter-of-factly. Murphy snapped her head around to look at her before taking a few steps closer to the redhead.

«You will do no such thing. I can't work under these conditions and you can't convince me for a minute that you aren't aware of it. I am leaving early as a result of the hazardous work conditions, _that's_ what you put down in your damn form,» she felt her arms shake and if she wasn't so dehydrated she would've spat her in the face.  
She clenched her jaw as she hurriedly moved past her to the security door and tried to compose herself as she punched in the code to open it. Though aware of the childishness of slamming doors, when she stepped outside she couldn't help herself and gave the door a final push and it shut with a heavy slam. As she stomped up the stair and onto the streets, she couldn't help but imagine the door slamming repeatedly over Lillian's face. Why on earth she had it in for Murphy she had no idea, it wasn't like she was a threat to her in any way. Maybe she was just a kid with a magnifier glass and her workers all the little ants on the anthill.  
Saying that she walked was an understatement, it was more like an angry half-jog going absolutely nowhere, but going there with a clear purpose; getting as far away from Lillian as soon as she could. Thankfully, as it was late afternoon, the temperature had dropped slightly and though it was still uncomfortably hot at the very least she wasn't heaving. Moving through the streets without restraint, people had to move to get out of her way. Her feet couldn't stop moving and she didn't try to make them. She knew if she stopped she would disintegrate. Too much had been bottled up and she felt the nagging reminder of her own loneliness go off like an alarm. The reminder of the reality of what her life had come to, that she never wanted to go home, but she never wanted to leave either. That was it. Home. She looked up at her apartment building and stopped abruptly. Letting out a breath she felt tears roll down her face and she realized she really didn't want to go home. She felt sad like a child as she sat down on the stairs outside the building and let the tears move down an already wet face. Whenever she would get sad or find it hard to ignore that void in her chest, there was sort of a snowball effect of emotion. Everything hurt. She couldn't merely find one reason to explain her sadness, she would find her whole life to be an explanation. Instead of just seeing Lillian as the source of her current frustration she saw years of 'Lillians' and loneliness all piled up. It all came down to, 'is this what I'm getting out of life?'  
Not bothering to dry her tears she pulled herself up from the stairs and got her keys out of her bag. Her only short-term plan was to take a cold bath and then sleep. That plan played on repeat in her head like a mantra as she dragged herself up to the fourth floor. Her apartment was at the end of the hall, it was hard to even see that it was there if you didn't already know. She normally liked that it wasn't as accessible as the others, but today she wished she lived on the first floor. Her foot caught on a lump in the dirty wall to wall carpet and she stopped just in time for the door on her right to open. She cursed out loud at the sudden force the door had been pulled back and the chain held it back for dear life.

«What are you sitting outside for, anyway?» her junkie neighbor asked as if they were in the middle of a conversation and face came into view from behind the door. Her dirty blonde hair seemed even dirtier today, probably because of the heat. She'd most likely have sold her AC a while back.

«Can you fucking stop with randomly throwing your door open every time I walk by?!» Murphy hissed, this was nearly a daily occurrence and yet it scared the shit out of her every time.

«Why are you crying? Did somebody not like your sweet personality?» she snorted at her own joke but still seemed like she could fall asleep at any time. Her voice was so gravely and nasal, Murphy couldn't help but categorize her as a valley girl on heroin.

«Shut the fuck up, Taylor. I can't listen to you talk without thinking something's happening to you from behind,» she sighed and clutched her keys, moving away.

«Case in point, bitch,» she laughed but it sounded more like a slight inhale of air, guess laughing took too much energy.

«I know about all the visitors you get, by the way. Miss Lonely ain't so lonely no more,» again she tried to laugh at her own joke and Murphy moved past her toward her own apartment with a sigh and a dismissive wave of her hand.

«See you later, Tay Tay,» she mumbled as she reached her own door, unlocked it and stepped inside with only one thing in mind; taking a bath. She dumped her bag on the floor and turned around to lock the door when she stilled completely. At first, she thought that something didn't smell right or feel right, then she heard it. For a second she could fool herself to think she'd left music playing when she left for work that morning, but she knew that didn't make any sense. She slowly turned around and looked to the living room with big eyes and a quickening pulse. It was a song from her own collection, the familiar voice of Billie Holiday filled the space. The upbeat rhythm and the 1940's jazzband tune sent a chill down her spine. It's a song she'd play by herself sometimes, but hearing it now in her supposedly empty apartment, knowing she hadn't put it on herself, was terrifying. Clutching the keys in her hand to the point it hurt, she shakily walked out to the living room.

 _'...you better look out 'lil brown eyes if you're wise_

 _They sparkle_

 _They bubble_

 _They're gonna get you in a whole lot of trouble_

 _I'm looking for the boy with the wistful eyes..'_

The first thing she saw, the first major detail that her eyes noticed was the table. The oval table she had outside of the kitchen that was usually always naked, except for a book or two, was decorated with a red and white striped tablecloth, two plates, a bottle of wine and two glasses to go with it. A gold candelabra with unlit candles were placed in the middle of the table and then she noticed a color that didn't fit the picture. She breathed a small sigh of relief and then felt an array of emotions struck her at the same time. Draped over one of the chairs was a purple coat, a coat and a color she'd gotten accustomed to in the past month. As the fear lessened, the confusion stayed and she didn't know if she wanted to stay put or run. Go to Maggie and tell her what had been going on, clear her mind of this mystery man and see the situation for what it was; fucked up. Perhaps as a result of her loneliness, how exhausted she was or merely in shock, she stood there immovable. She looked over toward the kitchen and there he was, almost just as she'd left him the last time she had seen him. He was wearing what she referred to as his costume, she could barely remember what he looked like without it at that point. His face paint slightly smudged, how could it not be in that heat. His tie was loosened and his sleeves rolled up exposing his surprisingly tan arms. A towel over his right shoulder as if she had interrupted him cooking. He leaned against the door frame to the kitchen with a characteristic smirk and crossed his arms, observing her observing him.

«Just let me know when you wanna see more,» he hummed and his smirk grew.

«What-» she shook herself out of it and looked around again, confused. «What are you doing here?» she breathed.

The contrast of seeing the man in the costume in such a domestic scene seemed to be difficult for her brain to understand. She looked at the romantic scene and back at the man who had made it with a confused expression.

«I came to see my girl,» he shrugged as if that would be a known fact. As if this scene was nothing out of the ordinary.

He threw the towel over his shoulder and walked up to the table, to his seat and sat down. He gave her a slight nod to suggest that she sit down, but she didn't move. She looked down at her own sweaty clothes and felt not just underdressed, but really uncomfortable. The music playing in the background certainly didn't help and mixed with the thoughts spinning in her head was enough to make her dizzy.

«Dinner will take a while, unfortunately, turns out my timings a bit _off_ today,» he said as he leaned back in his chair in what seemed like a contemplative mood.

Looking back at her he sighed, «Sit down, Murphy. If your eyes grow any bigger they might fall out of your head,»

All she needed to snap out of it was for him to give her a look that more than a little, suggested strongly that she'd sit down. Pulling the chair back she sat down with a great deal of suspicion.

«I've seen what you eat and it's not much, an apple here, a bowl of cereal there,» he tipped his chair back and looked up at the ceiling. Was that his explanation for breaking into her apartment to...cook? She felt frozen in her awkward position on the seat.

«I've been thinking about you, trying to figure you ou _t_ ,» he seemed to chew his words, looking around the room as if looking for the right ones.

«I guess I'm trying to figure out if you're a lost cause or not, that would be unfortunate cause I hadn't pegged you for one,» he continued in the same way.

«You seem to be,» he waved his hands around as if searching for the right word, « _stuck,_ »

«I'm thinking you're stuck in the middle of a _process_ if you will,» he sat up straight and turned his attention back to her.

«I think you've been stuck there your whole life,» he whispered and bent over the table toward her. What he was building up to she didn't know, why she didn't run she didn't know. What she did know was whatever was coming next wouldn't exactly raise her spirits or clear her confusion.

«That's the problem you know when they start medicating kids so young. They don't get to develop their personality, their _quirks_. It's just stuck there 'till someone decides to _force it out._ » He shook his hands back and forth before he looked around the room and shook his head with an exaggerated sigh.

What the fuck was he doing? She stared back at him with a chill moving over her body and he, on the other hand, seemed completely comfortable with what he was saying. When he dumped a stack of files and papers on the table with a loud thud she moved back in her seat with a jolt.

«What's that?» she heard her hoarse voice ask as she watched him pick one of the files up and go through it. He flipped the pages as if he'd read them before, he didn't seem to actually read them.

«This, sweetheart, is your paper trail,» he put the folder down and patted it with his hand. Her breath stuck in her throat and whatever she wanted to say, she couldn't get the words out. Whatever she had assumed his intentions were when walking into her apartment, she had been way off.

«Every little public record of your existence- well, some not so public,» he gave a guilty smile.

He wasted no time opening the folder, «Y'know, a common theme throughout your medical history, is all these trips to the emergency room. I don't think I've seen these many concussions and broken bones since the last time I had a night out,» he laughed to himself, appreciating his own joke.

«And they started when you were _young_ ,» he frowned, looking down at the file. His whole demeanor seemed to be the imitation of an actual doctor.

«I thought it would slow down once you were taken from your parents, but up until your mid-teens you'd already been through-» he stopped to do an exaggerated count of his fingers. «-four foster families. Wherever they sent you, they beat the shit out of you, huh?» this time he actually looked at her and despite the pit of rage and hurt she felt growing in her chest she could see the sincerity in his eyes. It only added to all the conflicting feelings she had.

He looked back at another file he'd opened with raised brows and gave a short whistle,  
«Social Services sure don't like your dad, not that I blame 'em,»

«Found some files on your mother, an interesting read, but I can't stay away from you for too long,» he looked up from the documents only to wink at her.

«Seems like whoever they sent you to live with was just as bad as your own parents,» he sucked his teeth. «What did that do to you, hm? How did little Murphy pull through?»

He abruptly sat up in his seat and bent over the table. Although he couldn't reach her she still jumped back in her chair.  
«What did it _feel_ like? Did you ever lose control? Didn't you ever want to, uh, get even?»

When she didn't answer he sat up and tilted his head, looking at her as if he was trying to figure her out. Wasn't that his intention, anyway?  
«You've got mommy issues, daddy issues. Good thing you never had any siblings, huh? Any uncles? Couldn't find any uncles,» he looked away for a bit as if he was going over the documents in his head. Just to double check. How could he be so unaffected, so immune to the poison he was spitting? She imagined it burning his tongue off.

«I could tell, by the way, before I went through your paper trail. You've got that calloused approach to a beating,» he cut the condescending act and looked at her with what could only be described as sincerity, pride even. He said it very matter-of-factly.

«Now, I'm _curious_. How many pills do ya pop in 24 hours? How many anti-this and that are you on?»

She couldn't speak, couldn't react. Maybe she was moving toward a dissociative state to get herself out of this conversation. There was a slight tremor in her limbs, like the part of her that wasn't in shock tried to force her to run. She didn't realize she was crying before she felt wet tears roll down her face. Looking down at the table and the plate in front of her she noticed the cutlery. Maybe if she jammed the fork in her thigh it would wake her up and she'd find herself sleeping at her desk at the library. If it wasn't a nightmare at least the pain of stabbing herself would make the hurt she felt disappear.

«You're, uh, allowed to speak now,» she snapped her head up to find him right in front of her. With a yelp, she fell out of her chair and crawled back to get away from him. His face was expressionless and hers anything but. He followed her with slow steps as she crawled desperately away from him until her back collided with a hard surface and she was stuck, nowhere to hide.

«Why didn't you run just now? Why'd you take that?» his voice was mild, almost a whisper and he looked at her with narrow eyes. Not cruel, but she found no traces of anything she could recognize

«Y'know, you could have left anytime, I wasn't gonna stop ya.» he came over and squat down in front of her, this was as close as he'd gotten to her all night.

He let out a breath and sat there, still towering over her.

«We're gonna play a _game_. I ask you a question, and you answer. Simple,» he looked at her with a tight smile.

«The catch is, you have to answer _honestly,_ » his voice went low and he looked at her dangerously. He looked like he made himself comfortable, he shook his head and hands as if preparing himself. Again with the theatrics.

«I know you eventually went to college, good girl,» that earned her a nod. «Though you know how I feel about that philosophy degree,» he mumbled.

«Now, there were a few things I found out from your uh, mile-long paper trail. However, it stopped when you were about..seventeen? That make sense?» he asked, but it was clear he wasn't expecting an answer just yet.

«Here's the thing,» he whispered and moved in a little closer as if he was telling her a secret. «Up until then, I know where you lived, who you lived with, what schools you went to, what pills you were taking, but then,» he raised his brows, « _nothing._ »

«There's a year and a half of literally, _nothing_ , and I want to know how that's possible,» he smacked his lips and looked around and then back at her.

«How does a seventeen-year-old girl just _disappear_ and then reappear without a trace?» his voice sounded genuine, but she couldn't look at him. She had pulled her legs up to her chest in an attempt to keep control over what she could as if she could shrink herself and get out of the sight of the towering man.

«Tell me what happened,» his voice was eerily calm and she tensed her body in expectancy of an outburst.

«Why are you doing this? Why does it matter to you?» she tried her hardest to yell, but her voice was too hoarse from crying.

«Tell me what happened,» he repeated just as calmly. It made her wonder what he'd do if she didn't and how she really didn't want to know.

She felt panic take over and forced her eyes shut. «Stop toying with me!» she screamed.

«Tell me,» he moved closer, «what happened.»

She sucked in a breath only to have it come out as a heartbroken sob. «I was attacked!»

«Who attacked you?» he asked mildly. She couldn't see him, in fact, she was turning away so she wouldn't. Just hearing and feeling how close she was made her want to crawl into a hole and disappear.

«I don't know!» she cried.

«Are you telling the truth?»

«I don't fucking know who it was!»

There was a small pause before he spoke again and when he did, he did so with the softest tone of voice,  
«He beat you?»

She pressed herself up against the wall and turned to him for the first time since his interrogation started,  
«You don't understand, I don't fucking remember!» she spat.

Nearly gasping she sucked in a breath, «I remember being in pain, I remember being outside. Anything else is what Maggie has tried to tell me over the years, but I don't want to know.»

«Maybe you should,» he said, again with that soft tone of voice as if he meant for it to be soothing, comforting even.

«I know he did more than just beat me, so no, I'd rather not,» she sat slumped, slow tears rolling down her face.

«That why you don't, uh, _socialize_ with the opposite sex?» he continued.

It didn't make sense to her, her feelings didn't make sense to her. Having just told her biggest, most shameful secret, she felt like an open wound. No one else had pushed her on the subject. It was just understood. She wanted to bludgeon him at the same time she wanted to throw herself at him and embrace him. Even now, that's exactly how she felt. It left her a shivering mess. The realization that there weren't any patterns to his behavior came crashing down on her. Smaller details she could make a map of, but she could never prepare or protect herself from outbursts like this. Despite everything, she trusted him. That was her fault, but there wasn't an off button to trust. She internally berated herself again and again for having put herself in this situation. To have thought she could fool around with a murderer without consequence. After everything, she just wanted to feel good, in only for a few stolen moments.

«Not talking to me, huh? This uh, conversation we've had was much more premeditated than you might think.» he chewed on his scar tissue and she felt him stare her down.

She heard him sigh and move in closer. « _Sweetheart_ , you might want to start answering me now.»

«Why couldn't you just hit me if you hate me so much?» her voice came out as heartbroken as she felt.

«It's not like that,» he said quietly and she tried to pull herself along the wall to get as far away from him as she could when he snatched her out of the corner and pinned her to the floor. She panicked and felt desperate tears hurriedly move their way down her face.

«Don't fucking touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me!» she shouted and struggled in vain under his grip. The pain she had constructed her life around, done everything to avoid. The solitude she lived in, set routines to avoid just this.

«Look at me, look at me,» he said calmly and forced her face to his.

«I can't after what you did. Why would you do that to me? I'm so fucking stupid,» she sobbed and kept struggling against him, moving her face away so she wouldn't have to look at him.

«You may find me sadistic, but this is me helping you,» he said calmly, still holding her wriggling body tight under him.

«Someone's gotta step in to clean up the leftovers,» he moved his face toward hers, trying to get her to look at him.

«Not you,» she choked out sadly going limp under his hold.

«It can't be anybody else, princess,» he said calmly, soothingly in fact.

She laid there under him, not resisting anymore and stared blankly at the wall to her right. She had to give it to him, this was not what she was expecting when she walked in the door earlier that night. Maybe she'd learn her lesson from this, though probably not. Being around him was like being guided around a labyrinth always going in the wrong direction. As hard as she tried he was always five steps ahead and knew the way while she tumbled around in the dark just based on his word. It hurt her when he got mad over the fact that she wasn't following quick enough, she never solved the riddle in time. Was he keeping her around just to see if she would eventually figure it out? Or was it like he had explained now, that he wants to fix her?

She felt a soft touch to her cheek and slowly turned to look at him. He looked down at her with a bittersweet look on his face. Was this the silence before the storm?

«It's not like that,» he repeated in a whisper to her surprise. His thumb still stroking her cheek, drying her tears. Despite herself, she sank into his touch and sighed at his voice. This whole relationship was the definition of toxic and she knew that. Thing is, she really couldn't care less. She could ridicule herself, she could scream at herself, but it would never change the way he made her feel. Gotham was toxic. Both her jobs were toxic. Her neighborhood. None of those things made her feel good, but he did. Except, obviously, when he didn't.  
She opened her eyes as she felt him rest his forehead against hers. He still stroked her face and hair in a soothing rhythm. Shakily, she moved her hands up to rest on his face, mirroring his actions. Feeling divided more than ever, she let her thumbs stroke his scars softly. How could she seek comfort from the one who hurt her? How was it he was the only one she wanted comfort from? Was she doomed to always need the ones who hurt her? Was she pathetically following old patterns?  
She had never enjoyed someone's touch before she met this strange man. She had never desired anyone before this strange man. He sighed and relaxed into her touch. Maybe he needed it as much as she did. His breath fanned her face and he opened his eyes to look at her. How did he look so sincere? How couldn't she figure out the riddle that was him and would she ever? A part of her, she realized, understood what he meant when he said he was helping her. She just couldn't reach it. Like a word stuck at the tip of her tongue that she couldn't vocalize. It was frustrating because it left her in the middle, the grey zone. Stuck between running away screaming or clutching to him like a lifeline. With him that close she wanted more than anything to go with the latter. She forced herself to meet his eyes and silently confront him, all the versions of him. Those brown eyes still held that same sincerity that confused her so much.  
He kissed her softly, to her surprise. It was almost shy, so different from how he'd kissed her before. She didn't bother to even entertain the idea of pushing him away but still didn't dare kiss him back. Again, stuck in the middle, doing nothing. Her hands fell from his face and he pulled away from her just to look at her, his brows furrowed and eyes hooded.

«Why are you looking at me like that?» she croaked. If she acted, did or didn't do anything she was afraid of his reaction.

«Can you,» he breathed, «can you touch my face like that again?»

She blinked, not sure if she'd heard him right. Why was he asking her to touch him? Would he be angry if she didn't? She felt her arms twitch and did what he asked. Cupping his face she hesitantly let her thumbs stroke his scars and saw him let out a ragged breath before closing his eyes. He looked tired now and lonely, like her she realized. It was nice to feel the warmth of another person, it was nice to at least in some way want to be with that person. She wished she could speak, tell him something. It was such a tender moment she wished she could get some words out, talk to him. Then he kissed her again, softly yet decisively. With him, she only had so much self-restraint. It was downright magnetic and the more she tried to stay away from him the harder it was. Despite what had just happened, she wanted him. She wanted him around, she wanted their conversations, his jokes. The psychical attraction was just a verification of what she felt. When he deepened the kiss she didn't try to stop herself from responding. Her hands moved up to gently pull at his hair and her body pressed against his. In a second he had picked her up from the floor and placed her on his lap. There was nothing aggressive about the way he moved, it was slower and somehow desperate. She couldn't help but groan as he bit and sucked her lower lip slowly. Moving forward and pressing herself as close to him as she could she kissed him with more urgency than she knew she had. He responded, mirroring her and she heard a low growl in his chest. When his lips and teeth latched on to her throat she gasped and as a reflex tried to yank herself away but his arms tightened around her and kept her where she sat. She was swimming in his warmth, his smell, and his touch. Not being able to stop herself she rolled her hips against him and let out a rough breath as she heard him practically moan. His lips disappeared from her neck and she moved again, needing to hear and feel his reaction again. He purred her name through a ragged breath and she wished she knew his so she could purr too. Somewhere outside their bubble, a loud noise rang, making her lose focus and turn towards it. He didn't seem to even hear it as she felt his lips move from her jaw to her throat. Coming out of the haze he'd enveloped her in she realized it was the kitchen timer. She'd completely forgotten and so had he.

«Baby, the food,» she breathed.

He growled as he nibbled on her ear, making her giggle. «Let it burn.»

She laughed as he held her tighter and she ran her fingers through his hair. «I like the way you prioritize, but I don't feel like having the fire brigade at my door,»

Bringing his face up to hers she felt her face flush at how handsome he was, tussled hair, ragged breath.

«That's a valid point,» he breathed and in a second he lifted her up and walked over to the table and sat her down on a chair. Brushing his thumb over her cheek he leaned down to her,

«Don't move,» he whispered before walking away and into the kitchen. The loss of contact felt strange, cold even. Despite the ridiculously high temperature, she felt a slight shiver move over her body. Maybe it was the aftershock of everything that had happened since she entered her apartment, she wasn't sure. It didn't take long before he came out carrying a large ceramic pan and place it on the table. It was weird to see him be so domestic, she didn't think he was one to cook. Before she could say or do anything he'd already put a portion on her plate and placed it in front of her. She recognized it immediately. Moussaka.

«Yeah, it's uh, like boring lasagna,» he sat down and without missing a beat he started eating. She was fascinated if not a little worried about how fast he ate the practically still boiling food. Looking up at her he playfully nudged her chair and winked.

«Eat. I wanna see that plate empty before we leave the table,»

She giggled and carefully started cutting her food, being careful not to burn herself. She had to force her eyes from him and his lazy smile. Like two lovestruck teenagers, they'd catch the other one looking and then break into smiles. There they sat in a comfortable silence like the previous scenes hadn't occurred at all.


	7. I Want Some More

**!extra long chapter, you have been warned!  
**  
Authors note: Surprise! I'm back for a _1-year anniversary special edition chapter!_ Almost exactly a year ago I published the first chapter of what was to become something I'm very proud of. Thank you to all the readers, whether you clicked follow, left reviews or merely read the story. I honestly didn't think I'd get any recurring readers at all, so please accept my most genuine thank you's. To celebrate I've put together what I think is an excessively long chapter, I hope it's not too long, and if so, please let me know because I know even for me this is a loooong chapter. Please tell me what you think, I'd appreciate any feedback. This one's for you guys.

* * *

Her mind was scrambled, and she knew it. She knew who was to blame and had no idea what to do about it. It had taken a few months, but now she was feeling the effects of it. The results of the affection given to her by a man whose name she didn't even know. The strange thing was she didn't seem to mind that he remained nameless, she usually forgot to ask, and at that point, she didn't want to. Days that passed without seeing him left her hesitant. Had she allowed someone to take up that much space in her psychical and emotional life only to have them bail on her? Despite her insecurities, she caught herself sporadically smiling throughout the days, playing her mental recording of his voice over and over like a melody she had stuck on repeat in her head. She did love his voice and the way he said her name. Since the last time she saw him, he'd crawled his way into her head and didn't show any signs of leaving anytime soon. What scared her was that she didn't want him to.  
This wasn't a man she could introduce to her friends; he wasn't a 'good guy.' He tortures and kills people for a living and yet he could touch her so softly, purr her name when she dragged her hands through his hair. To her, he was a human paradox made exclusively out of contrasts she didn't understand, but that was what attracted her to him. She craved it, she realized. Though she was ashamed to want someone so complex and fucked up, her shame was balanced by her curiosity and attraction. Touching the still sensitive mark he'd left on her neck, she smiled to herself. She realized something then, comfortable in his company; all she wanted was to be understood, and somehow, the man with the painted face and bright colored suits was the only one who did. That fact terrified her as much as it elated her.  
She sucked in a quick breath before shaking herself back into real life.  
The printer hummed rhythmically in the background as she drummed her fingers on the desk impatiently. It had been another slow day at the archives, and she had made plans to hang out with Maggie after. For the first time in a long time, she couldn't wait to get out of work to hang out with someone, even her best friend. She pulled her light jacket on and picked up her bag, waiting for the printer to finish. The control room had been fixed a week prior, and she was beyond grateful to not be boiled alive and not have to see Lillian more than she had to. Since the day she walked out Murphy hadn't spoken a word to her tightly-dressed, fire-haired boss. Looking down, the printer sent out the last of many pages, and she picked them up as she drew a deep breath. All she had to do was deliver the papers to Lillian and then she could leave. The reason for her hesitation was something fairly childish. That woman could ruin her day with a look, and this wasn't a day that needed ruining. She felt okay, good even and that was a state she knew was fragile.  
Clearing her throat, she gathered her things and was careful not to crease any of the papers as she made her way up the stairs and through the massive hall of the library. She didn't let herself hesitate for a second as she knocked on the door twice before hearing a voice from inside the office. Opening the door, she muttered an apology before making her way in with the papers in hand. It wasn't before she looked up and saw Lillians face that she realized she had made a mistake. The subtle, yet cold glare that came from the red-head was unmistakable. Murphy had interrupted. She turned to the man she saw sitting opposite of Lillian and stopped dead in her tracks. You could hear a pin drop as she stood frozen, looking straight at Bruce Wayne himself. When they locked eyes the man got up from his chair and gave a friendly smile.

Snapping out of it she hurried over to a table with her papers,  
«I'm so sorry for interrupting, I'll just leave these here,» she said rushed as she sat the stack of papers down. Now she knew why Lillian was shooting daggers more than usual.

«No, no, it's fine,» she looked up to see Mr. Wayne give a sympathetic smile that was in high contrast to Lillians expression. He like the one other time they'd met was dressed in an expensive looking suit and looked just like he did on TV and in the papers. His polite demeanor was something of a by-gone era, no one she knew would stand up just because she walked in the room.

«It's nice to meet you again, Miss Murphy,» he gave a slight nod. Instinctively she smiled back and swallowed hard, not knowing what to do next or what would happen next. Leaving was probably the sensible thing to do, but she didn't know how without merely walking out abruptly. Having a round of small-talk with Lillian Elliot and Bruce Wayne wasn't a way she liked to waste time. She stood there confused in the now chilly atmosphere of her boss' office.

Before she could form a sentence she heard Lillian utter in an abnormally high voice,  
«You two know each other?» her voice was as tight as her smile and a few notes higher than usual. She looked at the handsome billionaire and back at her confused employee with that god awful smile. Murphy knew that the contrast between them was so apparent that she'd expect an explanation.

«Yes, Louisa helped me with a charity project last fall,» he smiled, and she almost laughed out loud. She had to bite her cheek as she smiled back at Lillian as if to verify what Wayne said. That was a hell of a smart way to phrase 'I promised to fund an illegal clinic your employee and a few others were running and then was never heard from again.' If his wordless withdrawal hadn't been the reason Maggie went to the Russians for money, she wouldn't be so bitter about it. Right now, looking at him in his spotless suit and seeing Lillian looking just as impeccable, she felt a merely tired indifference toward the wealthy elite in front of her.

«Really?» Lillians eyebrows raised and she looked back and forth from Mr. Wayne and Murphy with a smile. «I didn't peg Louisa for charity work,» she let out an airy laugh that somehow was as strained as herself.

Murphy suppressed the urge to groan out loud, but forced out the same laugh Lillian did so well and shrugged with a smile, «People are full of surprises!»

«Apparently so,» Lillian played along, and Murphy wanted to get the hell out of this awkward encounter.

«I'm clocking out, you two have a nice evening,» Murphy smiled as she walked over to the door and couldn't wait to tell Maggie about this later. The only good thing she'd get out of this would be Maggie's reaction to it.  
She turned and gave the broad-shouldered man a slight nod, «Mr. Wayne,» before pulling the door open and as gracefully as she could, made her way down the long hall toward the exit.

Her steps echoed through the near-empty reading halls of the library, the tall ceilings creating an almost church-like acoustic. It was an incredibly beautiful building. One of the very few that had survived the passage of time and waves of crime that plagued the city. Like a lot of other public buildings in the country, it had been drawn as a sort of replica of old European architecture. The library had been built in the 1820's, but looking at it you'd think it had been there since before Columbus stumbled upon the continent. She smiled to herself, it was a beautiful place to work and hadn't it been for Lillian she would've enjoyed it a whole lot more. Walking over to the large wood-carved doors she stopped abruptly, knowing something was wrong.  
She had been in such a rush to get out of the office she had left her bag behind. This meant, she had no choice but to go back there and interrupt them once again. If Lillian had been shooting daggers before, she had no idea what the reaction would be this time. Looking up at the doors she groaned loudly. Here she thought she was home free.

She cursed herself under her breath with a groan, « _You ditsy fuck._ »

Biting down the embarrassment, she forced herself around and made her way back to the office. Her footsteps echoed through the halls again, yet this time it sounded as though Godzilla itself had made its way into the building. It was as though she was sneaking in the front door, trying not to wake anybody. Her primary goal now as she cursed herself was to avoid any direct contact with Lillian as though she was the plague. In many ways, she was. Walking all the way back the long hall she could see the doorway ahead get closer and closer. She drew a breath to prepare herself and then, the door opened.

She stopped in her tracks to see none other than Mr. Wayne stepping out, carrying her bag. He approached her with a sympathetic smile,  
«I thought you'd like your bag back,» he chuckled as he handed her the raggedy bag, she was embarrassed on his behalf for having to be seen with it.

She let out a small, nervous laughter as she accepted it and sheepishly hooked the strap to her shoulder, «Thank you, I was in a bit of a rush.»

«Somehow I could tell,» he joked, and she couldn't help but quip a brow at his light sarcasm. «To apologize for holding you, let me at least offer you a ride,» he moved to her side and indicated that she'd follow.

«Oh, no, thank you, but that's not necessary,» she said hurriedly as she followed him down the hall.

«You going far?» he turned to ask her, and she knew he could tell she was. He had to know she was going far; she had never had the funds to live anywhere close to midtown, she certainly wasn't living in a walking distance of the library.

«Uh, yeah, Stevensburg-» she muttered as she clutched her bag to her side to stop the loud jiggling of her keys.

«We'll get you there in no time,» he smiled and came to a stop, with his hands behind his back, the same sort of gentlemanly characteristics she'd only seen in films. She was confused for a second, they hadn't walked more than twenty feet from the office and were still in the middle of the library.

When he spoke next, his voice was hushed as if he was telling a secret,  
«I was hoping if it's alright with you, that we could discuss said 'charity project,'»

He turned his head just slightly toward the back where the office was, «Preferably without the feeling of being watched.»

Turning around Murphy felt a chill move down her spine. There Lillian was, downright glaring at her from outside her office. It was the sort of look that exposed who she really was; it was a look of hate. It scared her, Lillian had always seemed like she was a bit off, but seeing Murphy talk to Mr. Wayne appeared to hit a nerve. She had to tear herself away from it; she could risk being cursed by merely looking at her.

«Oh, okay,» she breathed as she could feel metaphorical daggers lodging into her back.

«If that's not a conversation you wish to have, I can more than understand it,» he gestured to move again, and she followed, eager to get away from Mrs. Daggers.

«I don't make a habit out of not making good on my promises, this is something that's weighed heavy on me,» he opened the door for her, and she stepped out into the sunshine. Making their way around the corner of the building he stopped and turned to her with a solemn, seemingly honest expression,

«I'd like to help, sufficiently this time, though I can't blame you if any trust you had is broken. Regardless of your decision, the least I can do is drive you home,» he spoke and just then, like clockwork a large, expensive looking black car drove up to where they were standing.  
He walked over to the passenger side and opened the door for her. That's when she noticed something about the car door. It was about five or six times thicker than a standard car door; it was basically a tank concealed as a business man's transport. It made complete sense that he'd have a bulletproof car, but she stood mesmerized staring at the armored tank. She hesitated as she looked at the dark interior of the vehicle. He was a famous man, but that didn't make her feel better about getting into a car with him. This wasn't a man she knew, and there wasn't any reason she should. At the same time, she imagined the walk all the way to Maggie's place. The heat alone was a pain, by the time she'd get there she'd be drenched in sweat. She also had to pee, and there was no way in hell she was walking back into the library. At that point, there was a genuine fear she'd be found stabbed to death in a toilet stall.

He noticed her fascination toward the car and her hesitance to get in,  
«It's bulletproof so it might just survive Stevensburg,» she looked over at him, and he smiled. So then, she drew a breath as laziness won the fight and she gave the overly-dressed man a grateful nod and a smile as she stepped into the car.

Once they were both inside, he asked her for the address, and the car started moving smoothly through the streets. She was uncomfortable for several, obvious reasons. She was sitting in an armored vehicle that cost more money than she'd ever get her hands on with the most famous man in the city and she had no idea what to say. This wasn't a scenario she'd ever been prepared for, she had met the man once, and it wasn't like they'd become friends in the five to ten minutes of conversation they'd had months ago. When it came to the matter he wanted to discuss; Maggie would be the better person to ask. Murphy was just along for the ride; Maggie was the captain.

Surprising herself she broke the silence, «Look, regarding the clinic, I'm not in charge of anything. I can't accept or decline an offer, all I can do is pass on the message.»

In the corner of her eye, she saw him nod slowly, «That's all I'm asking for. As I said, I didn't stick to my word, and I understand your skepticism. I fully expect you to consider it carefully.»

One thing she was unsure about, not just if this man was trustworthy or not, but rather if he really knew what he was getting himself into. He'd only been at the clinic once before; he hadn't been exposed to the reality of it. At best, mobsters were 1/3 of their patients, and at worst they were the only patients they had. She wasn't doubting his intelligence, but couldn't see how this would be beneficial to a man whose reputation was so tightly linked to his livelihood. Though he didn't come across as pampered, he hadn't seen half the stuff anybody working at the clinic had. If he was linked to an illegal clinic in the Narrows that mainly were held hostage by both the Russians and Maroni's gang, she had a hard time seeing him gain any popularity from it. Mulling it over she tried to find a way to say just that, without offending the man. If Maggie turned out to want his help, Murphy didn't want to tell her she had fucked it up by a lack of self-restraint and common sense.

She chewed the words before drawing a breath and sighing as she sat up straighter in her seat,  
«If you intended to help the poor and helpless in the Narrows, that's no longer the situation for us. The clinic isn't that much of a free clinic anymore. These days most of our patients aren't people I'd assume you want to have any connections to.»

«I see,» he spoke from next to her before looking up with a slight smile, «Bad for business?»

«Unfortunately.» she nodded solemnly. «It's up to you and the others at the clinic, but I couldn't let you make a deal without knowing the full scale of it all. It's not a place I'm thrilled with being linked to, so I can only assume what sort of ripple effect it would have on your life should it be known that you're funding it.»

He nodded, listening intently. «I'm not completely ignorant to the change happening in the Narrows; I've been keeping an eye on the area. To me it sounds like you need all the help you can get.» He looked over at her, and she knew right then that there was nothing she could do, he wanted back in, and once Maggie would find out, that's the way it would be. She didn't need to know Bruce Wayne to understand that this wouldn't be a successful business venture for him. It was beyond strange that he remained so adamant.

She let out a chuckle; this guy wouldn't budge. «I won't lie, we're in a tight spot. That's exactly why I don't understand why you want in.»

He smiled. «You think I'm naive.»

«Maybe, or idealistic, whichever you prefer. I think it's hard not to be,» she shrugged and just then, the car slowed to a spot. Glancing out the window, she saw the familiar streets of Maggie's neighborhood.

«Would it be okay to set up a meeting after you've talked to the others?» he asked almost carefully. She knew neither Maggie nor Martin would decline the offer and she knew she'd have to have another meeting with Wayne. He wasn't a creepy guy, and he hadn't been offensive or rude, but there was something about him that didn't feel right. It made her uncomfortable and more than a little frustrated she couldn't figure him out. There was more to him than a playboy who ran around spending his daddy's money. She'd much rather have Maggie deal with him, last time they met, she seemed utterly enamored with the guy.

She sighed, «Sure,» she unlocked her seatbelt and looked through her bag to find a crumpled piece of paper and a pen. She wrote down her number and handed the stoic man the note.

«Thursday at lunch sound good? I'll have a car pick you up,» he accepted the note, and without losing eye contact, he tucked the simple note in it the breast pocket of his suit.

Eager to get out she nodded with a stiff smile and reached for the door.  
«Thank you for the ride, Mr. Wayne-»

«You're welcome, Miss. Murphy, though, just call me Bruce.» he gave a friendly smile as the door on her side opened. Grabbing her purse, she stepped out and turned back to the man in the bulletproof car.

«Then just call me Murphy, Miss Murphy reminds me of middle school.» she stepped away from the car, and she swore she heard him let out a little laugh before the door was closed and the car moved down the empty streets. Lunch on Thursday. Meaning she'd be picked up at work. At the library. Where Lillian also works. There is no way she won't notice that. Fucking great.

Ever since Lillian had taken over the job as the chief librarian of the Gotham Library, Murphy collected every single encounter she had with the woman and saved them until she could give Maggie the newest update about the 'chief of horror.' It was one of those treats you have in friendships where you get to indulge in the shared hatred of another person. They'd laugh, do childish imitations and make an evening of it. Though behind the laughter was a piece of shared history that they never openly discussed. It was as though joking about the obvious was their way of venting, of dealing with what was right below the surface. In reality, Maggie had more reason to despite Lillian than anybody else. What Murphy was subjected to was nothing compared to the pit that now sat in Maggie's stomach because of none other than Lillian herself. Talking shit about her was cathartic to them both, but Murphy could see how Maggie's eyes would sparkle, and her grin grow. For a good reason too, Maggie had been exposed to Lillians venom-dripping comments and cold stare more than anybody else she knew, even more than herself. When Murphy learned Lillian would be her new boss at the library two years prior, she wasn't sure how to break the news to Maggie. Lillian Elliot was one big piece of Maggie's history that weighed heavy on her if she wanted to admit it or not. It was a topic they always danced around, and Murphy found it hard to balance at times, occasionally she would slip a casual comment that she'd immediately regret. Maggie reacted just as she would, with a light shrug and a small smile, her attempt to brush it off. Murphy always noticed, it was hard not to, but she felt apologizing would only make it worse. This was one of the ways the two friends were similar, to Murphy it felt like looking at herself sometimes.

Maggie had started college a year before Murphy. Ambitious and dead set on going through medical school she would befriend equally eager students. At that time they were still close, but Murphy felt like the mentally ill sister Maggie was under obligation to take care of. She was happy Maggie was doing well, and she seemed to thrive in every way. It appeared finally, at least one part of their duo had found their place. Once Murphy's health improved she'd tag along to parties, hangouts and though it took some time she blended in with the others and became a part of their group. As she started college to study English literature and history, she was subsequently teased for her choice by the others. When she decided to take up philosophy as well, there was a roar of friendly laughter from the future doctors. She was the artistic addition to their group, and she didn't mind. For about two years, financial situations set aside, things were good. It was her, Maggie and the small glimmer of light that would indicate a future in a city where the word itself didn't exist. Maggie had always been good at acquiring friends in high places, she was the epitome of charismatic, so much so that even the rich kids chose to look away from her working-class background. She was radiant, smart and beautiful; sometimes Murphy would smile to herself in seeing people, especially guys reactions to her fair-haired beauty of a best friend. Maggie was happy and enjoyed the attention, but she was never taken away by it, always studying hard and managed to balance her studies and her social life. It was during the first term of Maggie's freshman year that she befriended yet another high-ranking member of Gotham's upper class. None other than Thomas Elliot of the Elliot family, one of the five founding families of Gotham. Most people referred to them as 'the originals', and there weren't many of them left. There were the Elliots, Dumas, Crowne, Kane, and Wayne. Though even at that time only three of those families had survived the passing of time, those being Wayne, Elliot, and Kane. Hell, even Wayne was left represented by the one living member of the family. The people of Gotham had talked about the curse of the original families as long as Murphy could remember. To many, the tragedies befallen on the founding families was seen as a sign that the city itself had been doomed from the get-go. It wasn't until the downfall of the Elliots that Murphy thought the gossip and wandering tales held any merit. For Maggie, it was much the same until one day everything she believed to be true was flipped. She had a front-row seat to the collapse of the one family that had seemingly up until that point, avoided the curse.

Thomas Elliot was at first glance, at least to Murphy, another charismatic, broad-shouldered rich kid with a million dollar smile. Being that most of the people Maggie introduced her to fit that particular category, she didn't pay him much mind at first. The only thing that did set him apart from the others was his last name. The name Elliot at that point in time held even more weight than Wayne and as they were a family of ruthlessly ambitious people and Wayne was only one, they had made it to the top of the food chain. Maybe it was Murphy's bias toward rich people that held her back whenever Thomas came around to events or parties. Perhaps it was her pre-existing skepticism mixed with how evident it was that he and Maggie were growing closer as the months passed. Her eyes would light up whenever she saw him walk over; she talked about him more than she thought and probably thought about him more than that. Their group got new members, all upper-class Gothamites whose clothes alone had to cost her months worth of rent. Murphy was uncomfortable around them, and she knew it was obvious. She didn't despise them, but unlike Maggie, she didn't know how to fit in or want to. Maggie had always wanted to be one of those people, hell, most of the city did. It was the ultimate fantasy, imagine what it would be like to not be poor, to be polished and beautiful, to not be stressed about money all the time. She couldn't ever judge Maggie for wanting a piece of it, to just have a taste of that life they had always fantasized about. Murphy, however, did judge herself. She knew she was Maggie's weird friend, often overhearing others ask Maggie what was wrong with her sulking companion.  
When Maggie and Thomas, or _Tommy_ , began dating it came as no surprise to anyone. After months of 'will they won't they' they were seen holding hands and grinning, as only a ridiculously happy couple can. It seemed genuine and before long Murphy found herself feeling guilty for questioning it in the first place. Maybe it was her bitterness and at times excessive skepticism that got the better of her until she felt a warmth spread in her chest at her best friends happiness.  
She was surprised when one night, Thomas sat down opposite her when the group was at the campus bar. He struck up a conversation though he seemed careful as if he was approaching a wild animal. Whatever Maggie had told him he must have taken it very seriously. He apologized for not having talked to her before and seemed more toned down than he did around the others, more relaxed. She had felt the sides of her mouth twitch; he wasn't the ostentatious meathead she had first pegged him for. His brown eyes were genuine, and soon they were swapping stories and making each other laugh. She felt pretentious for even thinking it, but the boy had depth. She couldn't sense any ulterior motives as she could with every other college guy she met. It didn't take long before they became friends and if Maggie had expected her approval, she had gotten it.

«Hey!» she snapped her head up to see Maggie waving a hand in front of her face. «You're freaking me out with that shit,» she laughed.

Wiping a hand over her face, she cleared her throat, «Fuck, I'm sorry. Work is a lot lately, and then there's the whole Wayne situation-»

Maggie chuckled as she poured herself a glass of wine, «Oh yeah, we're taking that deal by the way.»

«I told him you'd say 'take the offer' so I kinda already guessed,» she huffed and sat back in her chair. Maggie poured her a glass of wine as well and chuckled again as she put the empty bottle down on the table.

«You're unbelievable. You're the only girl in the city who sees having lunch with Bruce Wayne as _tedious._ »

Murphy threw her hands up in defense, «There's something off about the guy.»

Maggie groaned, «Come on!»

«Seriously! Why the hell is he so invested, in more ways than one, in fucking himself over?»

Maggie shook her head, «Honey, your pessimism is showing.»

«Ah, ah, ah! It's called skepticism, and it's saved me more than once.»

«I don't understand how you see this as a bad deal!»

Taking a large sip of her wine she shrugged, «If something seems too good to be true then it probably is.»

Maggie looked at her with a deadpan expression that always made Murphy laugh. It was the 'I've had enough of your shit' look.

«What are you complaining about? I'm going to the damn lunch!»

«Yes, poor you, forced to lunch with the most eligible bachelor on the East Coast.»

«I love it when you're sarcastic, it's like seeing a shooting star,» she leaned back and smiled.

«Oh, everything I do for you!» Maggie exclaimed dramatically as she walked into the kitchen.

Murphy sat around Maggie's kitchen table with a content smile. This is what she'd been looking forward to all day. The only person she was comfortable around was Maggie. She was the only person that knew her and Murphy always forgot how much of a guard she put up around absolutely everyone else. It would be such a fucking relief to just sit down with her, even in silence and not feel that god awful knot in her stomach.

«Now that you're back in the game wanna take a few more shifts?» Maggie called from the kitchen. Murphy had at the most over the past few weeks, had two shifts a week. She knew they needed more help, but was scared of overworking herself as she had earlier. There just weren't any trained nurses or doctors who would volunteer for a job like that. A job that didn't come with a paycheck, but with a 50/50 chance of assault or death.

«Alright, can I do Thursdays in addition to the Saturdays and Sundays?» she asked as Maggie came back out with another bottle of wine.

«Deal!» she smiled and set the wine on the table between them.

«By the way, I've meant to ask,» Maggie said as she sat back down. «When's the last time you played the piano?»

Murphy raised her brows in surprise; she had to think way back, «Uh, college? I think?»

«You need a hobby; you're working two very shitty jobs, you need an outlet.» Maggie looked at her with a severe expression.

«Hey, I've got a billionaire boy-toy now!» she gasped in a faux offense.

Maggie pointed a finger at her, «Don't deflect, I'm serious!»

Murphy chuckled, «Okay if you tell me where the hell I'll get the money for a piano, even a keyboard, I'm all ears.»

The blonde sighed, «Just keep it in mind, it doesn't have to cost money.»

«Alright, I will. Though to be honest, I think you need a hobby more than me.»

«I do have one,» she said matter-of-factly.

Murphy perked up, «Oh?»

«Shooting range. Helps me de-stress,» Maggie took a sip of her wine.

«You carry now, right?»

«Yup,» she nodded. «Wanna compare?» she grinned, and Murphy let out a laugh.

They both went to retrieve their gun and almost giddy they returned to their seats. Immediately Maggie groaned.

«Goddammit, yours is so pretty!» she put her own gun on the table in a defeated manner. Murphy had to admit; her gun was pretty though it felt like the last word you should use to describe a weapon that's made to injure or kill. The carved pattern of tiny flowers along the barrel and her name inscribed on the left side. Light blue panels on the side of the barrel and the grip made it look near childish, but in reality, she loved it. Maggie's gun, she looked over with a laugh, was just a plain, black handgun.

«Whoever you bought that from, I need his number,» she nodded at it, wine glass in hand.

«Hey, yours is anonymous. That's preferable.»

«I guess,» Maggie shrugged with a smile. They sat there in a content silence for a while, before she heard Maggies speak, her voice changed. It had a more serious tone.

«Hey, I'm sorry about Lillian.»

Murphy smiled with a shrug, «It is what it is. Gotta be honest though, I'm not looking forward to her finding out about that damn lunch. Earlier when she saw me with him, I swear to God I thought she was going to kill me.»

Maggie shook with a silent laughter as she threw her head back.

Murphy let out a cackle, «It's not funny! It's the first time that woman has actually scared me!»

«She's just the gift that keeps on giving,» Maggie laughed. The situation was so dangerous they couldn't do anything but laugh. Lillian was indeed the gift that kept on giving; nothing came as a shock anymore.

«If I die, she did it,» she turned to Maggie with a semi-serious expression.

«I'll remember to give that info to the cops when they ask,» she laughed.

They sat there for another hour before Murphy decided to head home. Walking even a few blocks when it was dark wasn't all that fun, even with a gun. A slightly drunk Maggie followed her the door and looked at her with a smirk as Murphy stood in the doorway.

«Get home safe, remember to text me.»

«I promise this time I won't forget,» Murphy smiled.

Maggie reached a hand out to her and brushed some of Murphy's hair away from her shoulder. Her smile returned as she withdrew her hand,  
«By the way, I'm glad you found a cheap hobby,» she winked before closing the door and leaving Murphy with a tomato red face. Her hand immediately went up to the bruise on her neck, and she couldn't help but smile to herself as she made her way down to the streets and home.

Unlocking the door to her apartment, she pulled out her shitty pre-paid phone from her bag and sent the text she had promised Maggie.

 _'Made it home. Please drink some water before going to bed.'_

Kicking off her shoes she unceremoniously threw her bag on the floor and cracked her neck as she walked into the eerily dark apartment. If she could afford it, she'd leave all the lights on at all times. She hated coming home to darkness; paranoia seemed to creep up on her. Though it wasn't all that dark outside, there weren't enough windows in the apartment to catch the last remaining lights. At the very least she had a window in her bedroom, though it was on the wrong side to find the morning lights.  
She moved toward the living room with a sigh. Walking farther in and toward her bedroom, she stopped. Had it started raining? It was a clear night; there was no indication it would rain. Her pulse rose as she turned and took the few steps over to the bathroom door. Someone was in there. Drawing her gun, she turned the safety off and took a deep breath. Calmly she put her left hand on the door that was slightly ajar and silently pushed it open. Aiming at the anonymous silhouette, she pressed the trigger just as she lost her footing and slipped on the cheap linoleum floor. A loud bang erupted in the small bathroom and she saw a cloud of dust came from the corner of the room above the shower curtain, she could clearly see the hole she'd left in the wall. Panicked she looked to the floor and saw she had slipped in a puddle of what looked like watered out blood. Another round of panic hit her as she scrambled, crab crawling back until she hit the wall.

Heaving she looked at the shadow behind the curtain as she heard a high pitched laugh followed by a voice she immediately recognized,  
«Woah, Woah, Woah!»

«What the fuck?!» she shouted, her voice hoarse as she scrambled up from the floor. She stared, wide-eyed at the silhouette.

«It's only me, babe!» he continued with a laugh.

«Is that supposed to calm me down?!» she hissed, her voice strained.

«You really wanna shoot a naked man?»

Breathing so hard she almost lost her breath she practically wheezed. «What the FUCK are you doing?!»

«Take a guess, sweetheart,» she could hear his smile.

«You're breaking into my apartment to shower?! I could have killed you!»

«Absolutely, you just need to work on your aim,» he said humorously and she just about sneered.

«Just get out!» she shouted, frustration coursing through her system, leaving her with shaking hands. What she didn't expect was him to open the curtain only to step out on to the floor completely naked with an innocent look on his face as he seemed to wait for further instructions. For a mere second, she let herself look at him and how the water clung to his chest, dripped from his hair and-  
Spinning around she pressed herself up against the wall, hands on the wall and the gun still in her hand.

«Put some clothes on!» she shouted with a groan.

«Which one is it, get out or put some clothes on?»

«Both!»

«Then you should've specified; you got me all confused.»

«What are you doing here?»

Again he feigned innocence. «I think it's obvious-»

«Not to take a damn shower, what-are-you-doing-here?» she hit the barrel of the gun against the wall, emphasizing every syllable.

«I wanted to see you,» he said plainly as if it was just that simple.

«You always say that,» she sighed as she heard him take a step closer.

«It's always true.»

«Breaking into my apartment isn't helping convince me that you're not going to hurt me.»

«You're the one with the gun, Murph,» he murmured.

«You know what I mean! Stop with the damn semantics!»

She sucked in a breath as she felt him step right behind her, feeling his breath in her hair. «I just can't help it; it's so much _fun_ to watch you squirm.»

«You purposely frustrate me,» she whispered.

« _Yes,_ » he breathed in her ear, stepping even closer. «It just so happens, you frustrate me too.»

«How do you do that?»

«What?» she heard him smile.

«Break into my apartment and still somehow convince me that's what I want?»

«Because, uh, that _is_ what you want.»

«Yeah, I want to see you, but that doesn't mean...this.»

She heard him chuckle, «If you want to see me you have to turn around.»

«You're naked,» she whispered childishly.

«Well, I don't shower with clothes on.»

She felt a silent laugh go through her, «You're so weir-»

In a few seconds, several things happened very quickly. He turned her around, sat her on the bathroom counter, put the safety on her gun and put it down on the opposite side of the bench before sneaking a hand into her hair as the other carefully, methodically stroked her face. It was something out of an action film.  
«Dont' say that,» he whispered, «I don't want you calling me that,» it wasn't a warning, but more a soft breath that turned her insides to mush.

Before thinking she heard herself ask in a breath,  
«Then what do you want me to say?» Because of their proximity, it came out much more sensual than she intended and he took it as an invitation to step even closer, his nose brushing hers.

A slow smile moved over his features and he grinned with a small groan. «I can think of a few things.»

«Why are you doing all of this? Why are you here?» she let out a breath as she stared at him with big eyes.

He closed his eyes with a hum and slowly moved back and forth as if he was dancing.  
«We've been over this, baby. You already know.»

«I really don't,» she whispered honestly as his fingers gently stroked her cheek.

«I saw something I liked.»

«Like what?»

«Chaos swirling around the head of a beautiful girl,» he smiled.

«Chaos?»

He nodded, «Mhm, I was done for.»

«That word seems to describe you better than me,» she looked at him, trying to figure him out. Trying to figure out why she was dead set on figuring him out.

«Maybe that's why we go together like peanut butter and jelly,» he opened his eyes and winked.

Smirking he brushed his nose against hers and murmured, «Have you been drinking?»

«Y-yeah,» she breathed.

A chuckled came from his chest, «Good thing you have or my brains might be splattered all over your bathroom wall.»

She felt an uneasiness spread through her chest and limbs like she was in a car moving too fast and needed it to stop. She turned away from him and gently pushed against his arms, indicating that he'd let her go. Slowly he did, moving to the side and letting her jump down from the counter. Shakily she walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom right across the hall. He always did that to her; he was like a human Jack-in-the-box. Popping up when she least expected him and though she wanted to see him, wanted to be around him, he always jumped out when she least expected him, leaving her in a dulled sense of shock. A few days would go by and she'd process it, letting the memory of him mature in her mind. She stood in the middle of the bedroom, still reeling from his words and his touch. Her mind was speeding; she couldn't hold her thoughts together long enough to process them. He had hurt her and it took practically nothing for her to reach out to him, to change her mind. What did all of this mean? Was she getting involved with something she didn't understand? Was she biting off more than she could chew?  
In the midst of the silent chaos, she heard a voice from the living room. A deep mumble with a few seconds break and then it continued. Was he on the phone? She peered out of the doorway and saw him standing by the couch, a pastel pink towel lazily wrapped around his waist. He threw the phone down on the couch and turned to her.

Before he could speak, she heard her shaky voice ask, «You couldn't put on some real clothes?»

«They're on the way,» he smirked.

She frowned, trying to understand what the hell that meant. «Who-wha, I don't-»

«I couldn't put on dirty clothes now, could I?» he raised his brows and took a step toward her. «Does it bother you that much?»

«You're an attractive guy I shouldn't be attracted so yeah, it bothers me that you're in my apartment practically naked,» she heard her voice shiver and cleared her throat.

He smiled, «Ah. So we're back to playing that game.»

She shook her head and fully stepped out of from the doorway she'd practically been hiding behind,  
«No, no games. I could deal with, not necessarily understand, but _deal with_ the whole mobster killing, costume wearing thing you have going on, but I have to draw the line somewhere. Digging into my life and acting like you know me is a whole different issue!»

His looks softened, «Do I have to give you the 'I won't hurt you' speech again?»

She shook her head and turned away, «No need. I'll know you're lying this time.»

Drawing a sharp breath, she felt him move to stand in front of her. She cursed under her breath and paced where she stood.  
«I was having an okay day before you showed up, y'know?»

«I'm here to make it a great day,» he spoke softly.

She swallowed hard, still not looking at him. «This is...this isn't good, I don't like this.»

«I know for a fact that you do,» he continued, as calm as ever.

She felt her jaw clench as she snapped her head up to look at him, «Does it look like I do?!»

He smiled softly, matter-of-factly, «Yeah.»

She drew a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm both her thoughts and her body. Right then a loud knock came from the door and she snapped her head up to look toward the front door.  
He moved toward her and calmly pressed a kiss to her forehead before whispering,

«I'll get it.»

She didn't know what to do; she had no idea how to manage the situation. A murmur of voices, well, his voice came from the door and he was talking to whoever was there. Pacing between the hallway and her bedroom she tried not to panic though her hands were still shaking. It didn't take long before she saw him saunter over, still wearing that ridiculous towel and carrying a black duffle bag. He stood there and looked at her, that's all he did. It was a calm expression, so different from hers.

«Who was that? Who are _you_?» she looked at him with wide eyes.

«I got my clothes,» he smiled and lifted the bag as if to show her.

«Who the fuck gets their clothes delivered?» she whined as she covered her face in her frustration.

«You did tell me to put some clothes on, Murph. I couldn't put the dirty ones back on, could I?» she heard the smirk in his voice as he put the bag down on the floor.

«Fucking stop that,» she groaned as she turned to the bedroom. Seconds later she heard him in the doorway.

«Okay, okay, I'll give it a break. Would you calm down and talk to me now?»

She turned to see him half-naked in the doorway to her bedroom and had to bite the inside of her cheek not to blurt out something stupid. He was so fucking weird but equally as handsome and charismatic. Despite the confusion she felt, she also felt that warmth spread through her chest.

«You haven't put the clothes on,» she swallowed.

Not losing eye contact he slowly shook his head, «You don't want me to.»

She released a rough breath and felt her face flush as she turned away. There was nothing she could say to that, deny it and he could call her bluff, admit it and have to deal with him being right. Which of course, he was. Though she was holding on to control for dear life, she was utterly unable to control her reactions to him. She was embarrassed over how quickly and apparently she wanted him.  
A soft touch to the back of her neck shook her back into real time. Her breath caught in her throat and she stumbled forward before his arm anchored around her waist and gently pulled her back to his chest. She swallowed as she felt his breath in her hair and the strange safety of his arms around her. Biting her lip, she felt the sadness wash over her,

«You should find yourself another girl,» she mumbled weakly. «Someone who doesn't get panic attacks when you touch her, someone who isn't hermetically sealed emotionally. Someone who isn't a hesitant child.»

He shook his head slowly against her neck, «No,» she heard his smooth voice say simply.

She huffed, «That's just stupid.»

«It's anything but.»

She sighed and let herself relax against him. «I don't know what to do,» she whispered. «I bet this wasn't what you had in mind when you came here tonight,» she smiled.

«I don't plan on anything; I never know what to expect with you.»

She couldn't help but let out a laugh at that, out of the two she was not the surprising or impulsive one.

«What?» she felt him smile against her neck.

«I could say the same thing about you, that's all.» she smiled to herself and lightly let her palm smooth over the arm he had snaked around her waist. Slowly, hesitantly she turned around in his arms without pulling away. She suppressed a giggle as her nose brushed against his chest, his skin was surprisingly hot to the touch and she wasn't about to lie to herself, she'd imagined this sort of scenario many times. Slowly she let her hands move over his chest and up to his face. It was as though she was trying to soak him up, to get to know him differently. He didn't say anything just let her touch him and bent his head down, giving her better access.

«I don't have people this close,» she whispered.

«I know,» he said calmly as if he really did understand.

She moved even closer, removing the one inch of distance between them. Reaching up she placed a kiss at the hollow of his throat. Her fingers carefully followed every bump of his muscles and curve of his shoulders like she was trying to commit them to memory. She touched him almost awkwardly; she needed to see what it was like and how it felt. For the first time in her life she wanted to be honest with a guy, she wanted everything she did with him to be honest because if not she knew she'd force herself to do things she wasn't ready for and the whole thing would be doomed.

«I'm just...trying to get used to it,» she flicked her eyes up to look at him and his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open.

«I don't mind,» he breathed and she couldn't help but smile. Reaching up with her hands she stroked his cheeks, his scars, the way he liked.

He let out a breath and trailed his fingers over her face, mirroring her actions. Gently pushing a stray curl out of her face, he tucked it behind her ear carefully. Trailing his finger down her neck he pushed her hair away, exposing her neck and most importantly the mark he'd left on her a week prior. She felt a blush move over her face as she smiled shyly and felt his thumb circle the mark softly. Moving his hands down, he placed them under her blouse, on her lower back and she drew a sharp breath. This was what she was afraid of. This seemingly small thing, this was where she drew the line.

She pulled away, not far, but enough to make his hands fall from her. She could hear his questions though none were spoken.  
«I don't look like other girls,» she croaked, ashamed. Ashamed because deep down, she didn't think this strange man would reject her over something so petty. The humiliation and rejection she'd gotten from so many others, she was just about sure this man would replicate it. That was just it though; she was just about sure.

«Tell me,» she heard his soft yet steady voice speak.

«I have-uh, my skin is...» she mumbled and locked her arms around herself, looking anywhere but him.

Moving his face down closer to hers, essentially forcing her to look at him he spoke again,  
«Show me. Baby, I promise you there's nothing so bad it'll scare me off.»

She cleared her throat and forced the words out before she had a chance to take it back,  
«I have scars. A lot of 'em.»

Swallowing hard she took a step away from him and pulled her blouse over her head, followed by the tank top she wore underneath. Unbuttoning her jeans, she tried as gracefully as she could to remove her jeans without falling over. In a moment she was standing there in her underwear, more exposed to him than she had ever been before. It had been years since she had undressed in front of anybody. No trips to the beach, no sunbathing and no crop tops. Whenever she thought someone might see, if she had worn a short sweater that accidentally was pulled up it was like an electric shock had gone through her, causing her to embarrass herself in different social situations. It was such a big reason she lived the way she did and held herself the way she did. To voulnteerly expose someone else to it felt worse than having it be exposed without her consent.  
Her breathing anything but steady she slowly turned herself around, letting him see the 'full picture.' Clenching her jaw, she braced herself for everything she didn't expect. Though she didn't see it for herself, she saw flashes of it in her head. She knew every scar, had spent so much time wishing she could cut them off her skin. From the many smaller, half-inch long cuts trailing from her lower back to her midriff and the sides of her stomach to the protruding, long and ugly scars. They were the worst ones, the ones she genuinely hated. The many other scars scattered over her body didn't bother her much compared to the two worst ones. One on the lower part on the left side of her stomach, another up by her ribs. All of them were thick and stuck out of her skin; she couldn't help but think of a guy in college who had referred to them as her 'scales'.

She drew a breath and spoke, «I thought it would be better if I let you see them before, y'know.»

In a flash, he was on his knees right next to her abhorrent marks, still in that towel and his palms touched her skin gingerly. She looked down at him in shock and confusion as he kissed her scars slowly and meticulously. His arms held her steady as he slowly turned her around, his lips following.

He came to a stop and looked up at her, his breath heavy, she swore she would swoon,  
«Did you think I'd run?» he asked as if the mere insinuation was ridiculous.

She spoke, but her voice was quieter than she expected. «I didn't know what you'd do.»

Just the fact that she was so embarrassed and ashamed over her scars around _him_ doubled the embarrassment. How would he feel, having visible facial scars and having experienced, she assumed, way more discrimination and rejection than she ever did, react to her being so ashamed of her own scars. As cliched as it sounded, she liked his, she adored them the same way she adored every other part of him. Their eyes never left the others and she felt her skin flush at how she had a massive, consuming crush on a man who was currently kneeling in front of her, half-naked. Her whole world at that moment was fixated, tuned in to him, in fact, every moment with him was like that. Like there was no other world.

He was so downright beautiful at that moment she needed to kiss him. She leaned down, attempted to kneel down with him, but before she got that far his arms were around her and she was lifted up. Next thing she knew she was straddling his lap as he sat them down on the bed.

«Have you been this scared of showing me?» his eyes were raw, genuine as he smoothed over her hair with his hand.

She could have given him a big explanation, told him about the comments and rejection she'd received over the years, but she knew he already knew. If there was anybody that understood it was him. All she could do was nod and try not to pout like a child.  
«Yeah,» she breathed and inched herself closer to him, resting her forehead against his as he with a bit more force than before, slid his hands over her scars repeatedly.

«What made you think I'd react in any other way than I did, huh?» he breathed, his brows furrowed as she looked at her.

«Because everybody always has the same reaction to how I look,» she whispered as she twirled a lock of his hair between her fingers absentmindedly.

«I'm not everybody else.»

A smile broke out on her face, «No, you're not.»

«I guess I was more scared what you'll do when you figure it out,» she continued.

«And what's that?» he humored her, his hands slowly moving up and down her back, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

«When you solve the mystery. What about when you figure me out and I'm not that interesting? Nobody gives a shit about a solved mystery.»

He put his lips and teeth to the already existing mark on her throat; she let out a surprised gasp at the sensation. His arms snaked around her possessively, pulling her even closer to him and leaving no room between them.  
«You're no mystery, I've already figured you out and I'm still here and I want more,» he breathed against her skin.

When she leaned in to finally kiss him, to do what she had wanted to do all night, he beat her to it and met her in a bruising kiss. In contrast to the calm conversation they'd had, this was anything but calm. Burying both her hands in his hair she pulled at it, making him bend his head back with a groan. The feeling of his skin against hers was enough to make her dizzy and let out a whimper as he bit and sucked her earlobe. She felt him groan loudly at that and kiss her hard again, both of them pushing themselves against the other. Between gasps and busy hands, his went to her back and undid her bra in a swift move before dropping it on the floor with her other clothes. She couldn't help but moan as they teasingly moved against each other and heard a small growl from his chest. It was like she was enveloped in a warmth she'd never felt before, like a fog that she never wanted to get out of. Placing both hands on the back of his neck she kissed him deeply as she rolled her hips over his. She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth just from the sound he made and the hardness she felt underneath herself. To have him react to her at all was a self-confidence boost, but that he'd seen what she was so scared for him to see and still desired her added to her own growing desire. Just then he flipped them around, laying her down on the bed and sliding his hands down her ribs and to her hips. Leaving a wet trail of hurried kisses down her thighs to her knees, she let out a quiet moan as his fingers moved to the fabric of her underwear. Agonizingly slowly he pulled it off her, fingers trailing her skin as he slid it, letting it fall to the floor. To her surprise, he hooked her legs around each of his shoulders, elevating her slightly from the bed. She opened her mouth to speak but was immediately silenced as she felt to of his fingers slide down her clit and tease at her entrance. She moaned and pushed her head back against the mattress with a whimper.

She could hear how rough his breathing was, matching her own,  
«Fuck, baby. You're dripping.»

She couldn't speak even if she wanted to, only nod and hope he would continue what he was doing with his hands. He did just that, letting two fingers enter her and she felt herself clamp around him. She needed to touch him, needed him closer, needed all of him. As his fingers moved faster, she whimpered and closed her eyes, trying to reach out her arms to him.

He did come closer, bending down to a mere inch from her face,  
«Ah, ah, ah, I've got one rule for you, princess.» she felt his hot breath on her face and wished she had the will and strength to grab hold of him and drop the torture.

«I thought you didn't like rules,» she managed to whimper. Whenever she made a sound like that she could hear the rumble in his chest.

«That's very true, but for you, I'll make a very _special_ exception,» he breathed deliciously as he added his thumb to her clit causing her to rise from the bed and move against him, begging him to speed things up.

His other hand went to her face, gently caressing it, «I need you to look at me, don't close your eyes or I'll stop.»

Whimpering in frustration, she wasn't sure she even knew how to open her eyes,  
«I don't think I can.»

«Then the both of us will be very disappointed, baby,» he let out a soft groan and she felt his breath on her face, his tone touching hers. She audibly moaned and whimpered in frustration; suddenly this simple thing seemed like an impossible task.

His lips just barely touched her cheek as she whispered, his breath ragged,  
«You frustrate me and in return, I frustrate you. You want me as much as I want you.»

With that, she forced her eyes open to look right into his. He smiled as he let out a ragged breath,

« _Good girl,_ » he whispered and she internally cursed at how handsome this man was. Doing her very best not to close her eyes or take her eyes off him in any way, she moaned as his fingers moved faster and harder. She had to grab a chunk of his hair to keep her from throwing her head back. It felt even more intimate having to look at the man that was making her feel that way. His eyes were hooded and he seemed more focused and intense than she had ever seen him. The result of his arousal pressed against the inside of her thigh and she needed it, she needed him more than she could put in words.

«Baby, I need-I can't wait. Please,» she whimpered with furrowed brows as she looked right at him like she'd been told. In a short second his fingers withdrew from her and she whimpered at the loss of contact. He put her back on his lap and she moaned as she realized the towel was gone. She didn't hesitate to move against him, trying to find the right position. He let out a hiss and his eyes shut as she moved, she loved the sounds made more than she ever thought she would. She situated herself and rolled her hips again, not taking all of him in but enough to hear a throaty groan escape the man. Leaning forward she sucked his lower lip as she rolled her hips and took all of him in with a long moan. Her vision went black for a few seconds and though there was some pain when it mixed with the pleasure and the feel of him around her, she let out a raw whimper followed by a moan.  
When she started moving against him again and felt him join in on the rhythm and slide a hand up her back. Remembering what he said about eye-contact she opened her eyes to see him breathe heavily, a drop of sweat rolling down his cheek down to his neck. Bending her head down she licked the trail from his neck up to the scar on his left cheek. Pushing her hair out of her face in a downright sweet gesture she moaned at her way his breath fanned her cheek and how intensely she wanted him. If she knew fucking him felt that good she would have jumped his bones the first chance she got. Reaching his hand up to her face he let his still wet thumb trail her lips before she moved forward and took it in her mouth and sucked it. Closing his eyes, he drew a quick breath that only spurred her on more as she sucked every finger he had used to tease her with shamelessly. His curses and groans encouraged her to move against him harder; she wanted, _needed_ to hear him. In a swift move, he picked her up and wrapped her legs around him before walking away from to the bed to push her up against a wall with a growl. She needed him if there was pain she'd wanted, she was in a world of only her and him and the desire she felt was consuming everything.

Reaching her arms around his neck, she tugged on his hair before forcing a string of words together,  
«More, please, harder,» she whimpered and a mere second later she moaned loudly when he entered her with without restraint. It was rough, hard and they both grunted and groaned with every thrust. Sucking and biting his lips and he sucked and bit her neck down to her shoulder as they crashed against the wall in an increasing rhythm. If they actually broke the wall down she couldn't care less; she might not even lie to her landlord, she was too proud of her achievement. Groaning she buried her hand in his hair and clawed at his scalp, feeling her breath catch in her throat as something was gradually building to explode. She felt the coat of sweat that covered them, drops running down her back.

When he spoke his voice was rough and strained, his breath erratic,  
« _Look at me_.»

She hadn't realized her eyes were closed as she bit down on her lip, forcing her face up to meet his she did what he asked. His face had softened and the way he looked at her made her moan

« _No,_ » he breathed as his hand went up to pull her lip from her bite earning him a moan, «I need to hear you.»

Clinging on to him for dear life as she tried not to bite her lip and not to close her eyes, her breath caught in her throat and she knew she was about to explode.

«Beautiful. You're fucking beautiful,» his deep brown eyes looked at her with adoration as he groaned with clenched teeth. Pressing her forehead against his, looking back at him and trying to convey the same emotion back to him, she whimpered,  
«So are you.»

Her breathing started building, it became harder and harder to keep her eyes open, but she wanted him to be proud, she wanted to do as she was told. She nearly sobbed as she clung to him desperately and heard her breath increase rapidly. She wanted to kiss him, but that was probably against the rules, right? He looked so perfect; he felt so perfect, she couldn't help herself as she leaned forward fast and kissed him insistently. Immediately she heard and felt a growl from him and he jerked back a little without messing up his rhythm or breaking the kiss. With a deep exhale he kissed her back and a muted sob rang through her chest. He pulled away and she was closing in on her end, breathing erratically and looking at him with a pure desperation she spoke in a near sob.

«I'm sorry, I had to, I just had to-»

Quickly cutting her off with a deep kiss he spoke tenderly,  
«That's okay, baby, you won't hear me complain,» his voice was just as strained as hers and she held on to him tighter, never losing eye contact.

«Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're perfect,» she hissed and breathed desperately.

«So are you,» he whispered strained, repeating her words from just a few moments earlier.

Two quick, deep breaths later and she grabbed on to him for dear life as her vision went black and she heard herself vocalize everything she felt without restraint. She heard him do the same and thrust into her one last time before pushing her back against the wall and groaning loudly into her hair. Their breaths were heavy and they were both covered in sweat as she absentmindedly let her hand moved from his neck and down his back. Left in this almost suffocating embrace, she made her fingers comb through his hair and moved her head down, pressing a kiss to the spot behind his ear. His breathing was still heavy and he must've been as exhausted as her. Coming back down from the high she felt him pull out of her, letting out a small whimper as he did. Lifting her spent body up and away from the wall, he kissed every part of her face he could reach, earning a giggle from her as he kissed along her jawline and throat. Gently laying her down in the bed he got in next to her, softly trailing his fingers up and down her arm and torso. It was a soothing rhythm; she closed her eyes as her breathing slowed. The day crept up on her and she felt her eyelids grow heavy. She didn't want to sleep; she wanted to stay up and look at the man next to her, talk to him, kiss and touch him. As much as she tried to shake herself out of it, she was too tired to stay awake.

«Can we do that again and again and again please?» she mumbled as she inched closer to kiss his chest.

«Absolutely,» he whispered and kissed the top of her head. She let her hands gently move through his hair and moved up to kiss him.

«Don't leave yet,» she whispered back.

«I wasn't planning on it,» he moved her closer and pulled a sheet over them. Wrapped around him and his warmth she felt her eyes close and sleep take over her, dozing off in his arms.

One last whisper, a promise was whispered by the one person who was not asleep,

«See you soon, angel.»


	8. The Heron

HEY GUYS! This ain't no April Fools, I'm back. I've had an exceptionally rough 6-7 months and I'm sorry for the accidental hiatus. I've had half this chapter in my drafts for ages, but haven't been able to get to it before now. To come back and see that people are still reading, reviewing and following this story is wild and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you like this one, I haven't proofread it yet, but I just wanted to get it out there.

* * *

Murphy tried the best she could not to wring her hands under the table she was seated at. The sort of discomfort she was feeling wasn't alien to her. She had spent a good part of her teens convincing people she was good enough to merely breathe around them; this was supposed to be a walk in the part for her. It was usually very easy; there was a very simple recipe to follow. Observe those around you and follow their lead. Blend in without trying to shrink yourself. She drew a breath and straightened her back, letting her shoulders relax with an exhale. Though she was nothing but a typical street kid in over her head, she had been around enough of the privileged elite growing up to know precisely how they worked. Go to any sort of charity event or party hosted by people with money, and you'll see something rare, rare for most Gothamites anyway. You'll see people moving around with a serene tranquillity that you had never known existed. With no underlying desperation, no tight jaws or frowns of worry marking their faces. These people were so free of the anxiety that plagued the rest of the population, the near constant panic that had been instilled in Murphy since birth and what it all boiled down to was one fact. One detail that separated the successful with the suffering; rich had money, and the poor had not. That little word was enough to shape cultures, segregate millions from each other, punish the innocent and rid children of having a chance at life before they even learned how to walk.

Sucking in a breath, she dropped the fork she had been clutching in her hand and heard it drop onto the expensive tablecloth covering the table in front of her. She straightened up in her seat and although she knew she didn't look like the usual clientele of the restaurant she was in, she drew in a slow breath and put on the mask she had so carefully constructed. Murphy had been seated in a more private area of the restaurant and was glad for it. She kept glancing to her left to see just the people she used to dream of being, eating over-priced salads and nodding their heads as if they were paid to. It was like a country club where no one knew or gave a shit about the apocalypse going on outside. Though she tried hard not to she couldn't help but feel a wave of disgust at the sight of the well-dressed middle-aged women, the perfect image of politicians wives having lunch and social-climbing their way to the top.

A waiter came over to quietly fill her glass with water, snapping her out of her muted rage. She gave a slight nod and smiled that tight smile only rich people gave you cause they're too lazy to believably fake a smile. Trying her best to channel Lillian's sultry cynicism she looked up as a voice spoke from opposite her;

«I took the liberty of ordering for us,» Wayne said as he sat down opposite her. «I hope that's okay,» he smiled.

Stiffly dressed as always, she wondered why he felt inclined to wear suits like that even though it was the hottest September on record. She herself had dressed for comfort, and that was one of the many reasons she stood out. They sat in a secluded area of the restaurant, seats that were probably meant for the extra special customers. The staff were very discreet, she barely noticed them. 'One of the many perks', she mused.

«That's alright,» she gave a quick smile and hoped this wouldn't take long. The thought of having to go back to the library and suffer through Lillian's interrogation was too much for her, she had taken the rest of the day off just to postpone the ordeal. Now that she thought about it she wondered what signals that would send to her boss and if it would only make matters worse. She sighed knowing it very most likely would.

«Lillian give you any trouble?» he asked with a sideways smirk as he took a sip of his water.

She let out a chuckle as if he had just read her mind.  
«No, no, uh, though I'll probably get the full treatment tomorrow.»

«Working at the clinic must be a piece of cake compared to her, you have two of the toughest jobs in the city,» he chuckled and she huffed with a smile. He was probably right though, but where was all this personality coming from? The stoic if not brooding Bruce Wayne seemed long gone and now he was making fun of Lillian, making it impossible for her to dislike him.

She shrugged not knowing how to talk about her without blatantly bad mouthing her,  
«We don't really see eye to eye, I usually stay out of her way so working in the archives helps.»

He gave a stiff nod and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes,  
«I've known Lillian for years, believe me, I understand.»

She felt her jaw go tight. Oh, right there it was. Elephant number one; The Elliot family.

The closest Murphy had ever come to Bruce Wayne in the past was through Thomas Elliot. She had even considered him a close friend and now his mere name would send chills down the backs of the establishment he once belonged to. That was one of the major differences between the classes. The culture in which she grew up there were very few taboos. People were so poor they couldn't even afford family secrets, everything was left out in the open and people wouldn't hesitate to point out the obvious. When she felt her hands twitch, that hereditary impulse kicking in, wanting to bring it up, she held herself back. It was strange and downright unnatural for her to not talk about the only connection she had with the man sitting in front of her. Especially him being who he was. In reality, they could only dance around the subject of Lillian Elliot for so long before Murphy would succumb to the need of pointing out the obvious.

Thomas Elliot more than being Maggie's college boyfriend, was also Bruce Waynes childhood best friend. In just a few months, Murphy and Maggie had gone from being two poor girls from Stevensburg to, thanks to Maggie, being accepted into the more affluent crowd. Soon after that, Maggie and Thomas were inseparable. As time passed they seemed to only grow closer and the issue of Maggie's background wasn't much of a hindrance. Having to set her own prejudice aside, Murphy grew fond of the broad-shouldered man Maggie had chosen. They'd had long conversations where Murphy saw that there was much more to this member of Gotham's royal family than met the eye. Once he relaxed she saw a very different side of him and she suspected that's exactly what Maggie saw too. Something about Thomas resonated with Murphy, they had some sort of silent understanding where they'd give each other a look and they'd both know what the other was thinking. The sort of bond you only ever get to have with a few selected people in a whole lifetime. He became a very unlikely yet very dear friend to her over those few years. Regardless of how things turned out, she wouldn't let it tarnish the good memories she had. For a while, he had made Maggie incredibly happy and that alone was worth the world.

When she first started college she knew people whispered, she could hear them. She knew Maggie had to inform others about Murphy and her for the lack of a better word, quirks before they met her so they wouldn't be surprised. Murphy wasn't in a good state of mind at the time, heavier medicated than she had ever been and living a hermit-like life most of the time. On more than one occasion people had mistaken her for a homeless person walking around campus and shoved a few dollars in the pocket of her jacket. It was the first time she had experienced just the type of secrecy that would later surround Thomas. To have everybody think and know the same thing yet never say it out loud. Every time she met a new person they looked at her as though they had already met because they had already been told about was different. He didn't treat her as though she would break. There was no awkwardness and without being crass he would ask her straight out if he had any questions. She had never had a normal and healthy relationship with anyone, she never thought she would have anybody but Maggie. It was the sort of respect she didn't know she needed and she'd challenge him right back. Both she and Maggie would make fun of him whenever they saw him talk to any other member of the elite, how his posture and speech would change and he'd make fun of them right back. Except for Maggie, he was the only other person that really knew her.

One day though, he seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. Everything was normal until one day it wasn't. Maggie went from having a charming, supportive boyfriend to never seeing him again except for the front page of newspapers. There was so much chaos it was impossible to piece together the full story. Both Murphy and Maggie were taken in by the police and questioned though they barely understood the situation enough to answer. It was like being pulled out of a car accident and asked to explain what had happened. One word kept repeating itself, whether it was said by the police or printed in big letters in the newspapers; _murderer.  
_ They were told on more than one occasion as it took weeks to sink in, that Thomas had shot his own father before trying and almost succeeding to take Bruce Wayne's life as well. He had attempted to burn his parents' house down not knowing his mother was trapped inside. The fire brigade managed to put the fire out, but for Marla Elliot, it was too late. Thomas was shipped to Arkham, his sister the only living member of their family was left to pick up the who had been so good at removing taboo's and secrets had now become one himself. This unspoken mystery that would forever weigh on the two girls from Stevensburg who had thought college would be a smooth ride compared to what they knew. No one had been able to predict the downfall of the once mightiest family in Gotham, no one knew what went on in Thomas Elliot's head, not even those closest to him. Time passed and they did their best to move on, continue with their studies and add the ordeal to the collection of traumas that had accumulated in both of their psyches. To move on as though nothing had happened.

A waiter came over with their food, placed the two plates down and left just as quick as they came. Looking down at the immaculate food she realized it was a chicken pasta salad, though the fanciest one she'd ever seen. This one didn't come out of a prepackaged plastic bowl but had actual fresh salad in it. She tried to shake the memories away as she cleared her throat. She didn't know what to say to Wayne without offending him or bringing up past events he'd rather leave to collect dust. Skimming through her mind for anything to say she came up empty. Small talk wasn't her forte. Dancing around subjects wasn't her forte. She found it hard to shake the desire to ask him about Thomas. He was the only person she knew besides herself, Maggie and obviously Lillian, who had a close relationship with him, at least in the past. For obvious reasons, she wouldn't ask Lillian and she didn't dare break the almost five-year-old silence she had with Maggie on the subject. Murphy didn't know what she wanted, but it would've been nice to talk to someone about a friend she lost in the grimmest of circumstances, especially when said friends best friend was sitting right in front of her.

«Have you talked with the others regarding my proposition?» he spoke and pulled her away from memory lane.

She forced herself out of the dense forest of memories and smiled tightly as she nodded,  
«Yes, yeah I have and unsurprisingly they're overjoyed and have agreed to the terms.» she fished out the documents from her bag, handed them to him and he accepted with a chuckle.

«As expected then?» he smiled as a large man dressed in black appeared and took the papers before leaving again.

«As expected,» she nodded back.

She looked down at the pasta salad in front of her and though she wasn't hungry she as modestly as she could, started eating. She didn't see the point of the meeting now that she'd delivered the documents and childishly thought to herself that if she finished her food she could excuse herself. Like a child stuck at school when she had a brand new PlayStation waiting at home she had a hard time sitting still, only what she was looking forward to was far from a video game console.

Again he broke the silence, elegantly wiping the sides of his mouth with a napkin,  
«If you don't mind me asking, how did a library archivist end up working at a clinic frequented by the Italian mafia?»

She huffed a laugh, before he added with the hint of a smirk, «You've already ruled out idealism, so now I'm curious.»

«I supposed just like the owner of a conglomerate does; stumbling upon an opportunity and going with it,» she took a sip of water before continuing, «Regardless of the trouble that comes with it.»

«How come I feel like I'm trying to convince you more than myself?» he said near humorously.

«I told you before, you picked the wrong gal if it's convincing you're looking for,» she shrugged lightly.

He let out a small laugh and a smile showing his perfectly white teeth, «Well, yes, clearly.»

«Besides, it seems like you've already made up your mind so who am I to stand in the way?» she shrugged as she put her fork down having finished half of the plate and smiled tightly as she had done too many times during the past thirty or forty-some minutes.

Though she was trying to keep the conversation light she couldn't help but distrust him. He claimed to want to fund the clinic in an attempt to 'clean up' the Narrows, but she didn't buy it. Hell, she had even told him the clinic, for the most part, was a field hospital for the mob and he had just acknowledged that. He was aware of that yet still wanted to throw money at them to help them keep helping the same people that were tearing the neighborhoods apart. The same neighborhoods he wanted to restore, it didn't add up. It was like throwing money down a sinkhole. To go against her better judgment and give him the benefit of the doubt there was a possibility he had a greater plan that he just didn't share with her for whatever reason. Regardless of his true intentions, she knew he was holding something back. She had been wrong about him being the naive rich kid she had initially thought him to be, but now she was left without many assumptions and he became more and more of a mystery to her. A mystery that didn't sit well.

Clearing her throat she wanted to dig a little deeper,  
«After going through the legal documents and the plans, I have a few questions if that's alright.»

He responded with a professional smile and a nod before she continued,

«See, the problem I keep coming back to is how discreetly we'll be able to make this transition. There are plans of connecting us to a lab for any testing we need to do, giving us the best equipment available and not at least practically remodeling the whole clinic. All of those things we sorely need and I don't want to rain on your parade, but we're being watched. There's no love lost between me and the mob but flashy as they may be they'd know in a second that something's up. What I'm saying is, now that we're doing this we should do it step by step and watch our backs.»

He nodded again with a solemn expression, «I understand. You don't want it looking like bait.»

«Exactly.» she nodded back. It wouldn't just be Maroni's men who'd get suspicious, but the Russians were probably their most substantial threat and one they should do everything they could to steer away from. As much as she wanted to be happy about the deal with Wayne she couldn't help but feel it would put a billboard-sized target on them with flashing neon lights.

He leaned in just slightly and held her gaze,  
«This plan I set up is long-term. The list you're referring to is merely a suggestion and we'll decide together what to do when and if we'll do it at all.»

He gave her a reassuring look, moving in just a little closer, «That is something I should have clarified in the contract, I apologize for that. We'll amend it, it's not binding.»

«Alright, then we're in agreement, Mr. Wayne.» she nodded and gave another professional smile.

He replicated the smile and sat back, she could almost say he looked relaxed and maybe he did. Was this some sort of guilt thing? Throwing money at the poor to help with his own insecurities? Giving back to the community he never belonged to in an attempt to turn down the volume of the working class? What in the world was his motivation? When she looked up from her salad she was immediately met with Wayne's gaze. She said nothing nor did he, but there was something there in his eyes. Something she wanted to recognize but couldn't quite. It was as though she was trying to stare into his soul, to figure him out and read all his secrets like the books she worked with every day. There was a strange sense of calm and honesty there when she looked beyond the brooding facade. Familiar but also new somehow. For the first time, she saw a person in there, flesh and blood. Then it hit her in a course it was familiar, it was just like looking at Thomas Elliot.

A small hour later she was back home, home meaning the clinic. Getting back into her scrubs felt like coming home. At the clinic she wasn't surrounded by people she had to change for. Whether it was Lillian Elliot, Bruce Wayne or people visiting the library, she had to pretend she wasn't a foster kid from the poorest part of the city who still had to beg for scraps. She had to pretend she was one of them and amusing as it was, like going to a costume party, it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Being at the clinic was soothing in a way it shouldn't be. While the other staff did all they could to avoid the night shift Maggie knew she could turn to Murphy for help. It wasn't in any way safer at night, not that it was safe at any time of the day, but with the darkness came a different kind of clientele. The longer she worked there she saw more and more of the dark nuances of Gotham and almost despite herself she came to like it. Something about the sun setting over the city opened the door to all the creatures who hid in the shadows, the same creatures Gotham had become known for. The kind of people the city had unintentionally, or not, made and were now overrun by. Wasn't there some strange sense of poetic justice in that? Murphy, alone in her fascination was lucky if she got even two of her colleagues to join her for an overnight shift. A few hours into her shift she was handed a clipboard by Charlotte the nurse, another one of Maggie's visionary trainees. They had been pretty busy that evening, but with the usual sort of injuries. They were more than specialized in stitching up wounds at that point, so much so that they would with a little shame, be excited whenever they got patients with more substantial injuries. As Murphy looked down at the chart she knew this was one of those cases.

«Chemical burns?» she mused as she read the page named 'Jane Doe 245'. As they rarely got a name out of their patients they had to add numbers just to keep track.

Charlotte cleared her throat and shuffled nervously next to her, «We tried to clean the wounds but she wouldn't let us near her-»

«Did you manage to give her something for the pain?»

«Yeah, plenty but...» she hesitated.

«But what?» Murphy mused.

«We had to triple the dosage for it to have any effect. I was scared she would fall asleep and not wake up.»

«Is she lucid?»

Charlotte shook her head in confusion, «Surprisingly, yeah. She seems better now, but...»

«I don't have all night, you know,» Murphy sighed and put the clipboard down.

«She won't let us put the bandages on and she won't let anyone near her. She tried to get up to leave but I guess the morphine held her back.»

Everything about Charlotte screamed she had no intention of going back into the surgery. On a normal day, she came across as a timid and hesitant girl, a valid assumption would be that she had real problems transitioning from work at the hospital to the clinic. Murphy would be surprised if Charlotte wasn't terrified.

«Alright. You're on stitch duty tonight, I'll take care of this.» before she could even finish her sentence the new nurse scurried down the hall, quite glad she had dodged a bullet.

Murphy pushed against the door to the surgery and walked inside. This was where they kept the most injured of their patients and most nights it was filled with patients and staff running around in a controlled panic. Tonight though, it was quiet and the large room held only one patient.

«I've been told you're refusing treatment?» she asked as she approached the girl laying on the examination table. The girl had to be around her own age, mid-twenties ish. She had jeans on, well, there wasn't much left of the denim. It looked as though she had fallen into acid, the entire right side of her legs and torso was covered in large red welts and burns. Nothing in her training had prepared her for this, she was less shocked by gunshots and stab injuries than chemical burns. Murphy had to restrain a flinch at the mere sight of it. Based on the amount of morphine she had been given Murphy knew it had to hurt like a motherfucker.

«I didn't like the nurses,» a surprisingly smooth voice answered and the girl's face came into view, pushing herself up from the table. Her thick long, wavy hair was strewn around her head where she lay. The girl was beautiful, especially to the clinics standard. Murphy hadn't expected the lazy smile that occupied the girls face, nothing about her demeanor suggested she had any of the injuries she was there to treat. Charlotte was right, this chick was tough.

Murphy replicated her smile as she pulled a chair out to sit down, «Without those nurses, you would still be in a lot of pain.»

«And you're a doctor?» the girl quipped a brow and sat up straighter.

«Nope. Just another pesky nurse,» she smirked back.

The girl then threw her head back and let out an exaggerated sigh before going back to her previous mood, folding her hands over her stomach and tapping her fingers in a steady rhythm, as if she was bored. «I can take care of myself,» she shrugged, «most of the time.»

«I don't doubt that,» Murphy spoke, «but seeing as you're here at the clinic I work at and in need of medical attention,» she suggested as she nodded her head at the wounds.

The girl bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor as if in deep contemplation. She had already gone through half the treatment they could give her, it didn't make any sense to resist now. Before she could say anything else the girl turned to her with narrowed eyes,

«I've seen you before,» she mused, «Where have I seen you before?»

«Ever been here before?»

«Nope,» she shook her head slowly, her inspecting bright green eyes never leaving hers.

«Maybe we hang around the same chemical plants,» Murphy nodded to her leg and surprisingly it earned her a laugh from the girl.

Still laughing the girl wagged a finger her way and grinned,  
«I like you, you're sharp.»

«Like a razor,» Murphy smiled tightly as she got up from her chair and moved toward the box of gloves,  
«Would you object to me looking at those wounds of yours?»

Letting out another dramatic sigh, the girl threw her arms out in a theatrical defeat,  
«Fine, if you must. Just keep those nurses out, if you don't mind.»

It was baffling how lucid the girl was, that amount of morphine would knock anybody out if not kill them. Normally if Murphy had caught anybody giving a patient that much, it would be considered manslaughter at best. The patient didn't even seem uncomfortable or dazed, it was nothing short of carefully cutting away any leftover fabric around the wounds, Murphy methodically cleaned them. She couldn't help but smile as the girl hummed her way through a few 1980's hits as though she was getting a pedicure done. It was hard not to be impressed by her, it certainly wasn't hard to like her. After almost two hours the wounds were cleaned and the bandages set. Despite the gnarly looking wounds, Murphy suspected they would heal well as long as all movement was limited.

«You're not gonna ask?» Murphy looked up to see the girls green eyes look at her with some sort of amusement. At first, she was confused but then realized the girl was talking about her injuries and Murphys lack of interest as to how she got them.

Scooting back in the chair she removed her gloves with a light chuckle,  
«No, I never ask.»

«Why not?» the girl sat up slightly with furrowed brows.

Murphy let out a sigh, she hadn't really thought about it before.  
«I don't know, it's never crossed my mind before. Besides, it's none of my business,» she shrugged as she threw the used plastic gloves in the bin.

«You're no snitch,» the girl smirked with an approving nod. «See no evil, hear no evil,» she mumbled to herself.

«Speak no evil,» Murphy mumbled back as she collected all the trash and tied the bags closed.

Looking up at the clock Murphy turned back to her patient,  
«I'm taking a short break and for your own sake, I hope you'll still be here when I get back. If you move around with those bandages too much you'll only make things worse.»

The girl winked and gave a salute, «I'll behave.»

In the backroom, Murphy shrugged on her jacket and pushed the door to the back alley open. Pulling the garbage bags along as she walked down the steps toward the containers, the distinctive sound of feet against metal steps echoing through the alley. After dumping the trash she fished her cigarettes out of her jacket as she walked back up the steps to lean against the railing. She was in a strange mood and couldn't seem to identify exactly what it was. She lit her cigarette and exhaled as she went over the likely reasons or triggers. It was the side-effect of mental illness, this constant paranoia that any abrupt change in moods meant the end. Overanalyzing had to be better than being unprepared. She huffed a laugh at that thought because she knew it was bullshit, there was no way to be prepared. After all, she knew that better than most and yet she would cling to the false security of preparation. Her illness, her madness was the reason she was miserable yet whenever she reached for something more it was denied her because of her illness. In the end, it didn't matter how many group therapy sessions she had sat through where some middle-aged born again Christian would preach about how much more there was to them than merely their sickness. Of course, Murphy already knew that, but the rest of the world, this _city_ , hadn't bought into that concept just yet. It was all well and good within a bubble of freaks and weirdos, but outside of that comfort she quickly learned to stay in her lane. She didn't want to have to convince anybody that she was good enough for them, to beg for someones patience and attention. One privilege she had never had was the ability to conjure the illusion of being well put together. It was clear she wasn't and although no one else was, at least they got to pretend. She was an unfinished building while others just lacked the interior. Nobody wanted a project or worse, a ticking time the smoke she turned her face to the alley and nearly choked,

«Hey, beautiful,» she jumped at the sound of the voice and the sight of a dark yet familiar silhouette calmly standing by the end of the steps.

«Jesus Chri- you trying to give me a heart attack?!» she whispered back harshly, a hand to her chest.

«I didn't want to interrupt your little uh, philosophical moment,» he sucked the side of his cheek and eyed her with a humored gaze.

She huffed, felt her body come down from the initial shock and turned to him. «I guess I'm pretty easy to sneak up on, huh?»

He smirked, « _Too easy._ »

She let out a little laugh and smiled despite herself. Her attention was immediately on him again as she heard the squeak of the metal stairs and saw him slowly walk up toward her. Panic set in as she turned to the door and then back to him, he merely raised his hands as if surrendering and spoke slowly,

«I won't go in and scare your friends and your nice customers, you have my word,» he said teasingly as though he had read her mind and stopped at the step below her, almost making up for the difference in heights.

He was in his full get-up, paint, and everything. It didn't scare her, but she didn't quite know how to feel about it. Despite that, she couldn't help but think it was a little strange he was still so attractive. She turned back to the door, a little anxious.

«It's probably not a good idea for you to be here. If anyone came out, seeing _you_...there.» she trailed off, mumbling. Of course, she was the only one who went out there, the others were too scared. There was a reason she was always on trash duty.

«They might misunderstand,» he said quietly, nodding. She tried to ignore what that deep rumble of his voice did to her and took another drag of her cigarette.

«Yeah, exactly.»

«Can't be seen with lowly criminals, I get it. Falcone and the Russians are okay, but me? _Oh, no_.» he said with mock pain as he put a hand to his heart. She felt a blush move over her face and smiled,

«Something like that,» she laughed almost shyly.

«You're selectively honest. We'll have to work on that,» he said matter-of-factly, more to himself than her. She looked back at him and found him looking at her. Like always it was as though he could see through her, it was unnerving yet also, somehow, comforting. Carefully he reached over and took the cigarette from her and took a deep drag before leaning his head back and exhaling the smoke into the darkness of the alley. It was just like the first time he had kissed her, she realized. He had to know what that did to her, the simple act of leaning back, exposing his paint-free neck and perfect jawline. She internally swooned at the simple move, apparently, that's all it took.

He leaned toward her. Letting out what sounded like a mix between a throat clearing and a sigh his eyes turned to hers,  
«How was lunch?»

Whatever state of mind she was in it came down on her in a second. Ripped back to reality and the confusion that followed. His eyes unwavering she tried to make sense of his question and how the hell she would respond. She had almost all but forgotten her lunch meeting even though it was just earlier that day. Her brows furrowed as she went over it in her head. Why would he ask that? Why does he care? How does he know?

She swallowed though her voice was still raw when she spoke, «It was alright.»

«Yeah?» he said calmly and she nodded as she met his eyes. Her suspicion grew but she had no idea what to be suspicious of exactly. She never did with him.

«Yeah,» she simply answered.

«Uneventful, then?» he kept going, his voice controlled and yet almost light. This was a game and she had no idea how to play or, or even why they played it.

«Pretty much,» she nodded back.

He hummed before taking a breath,  
«Now why would Bruce Wayne ask _you_ to lunch?» he continued in a condescending tone and she took a step back in confusion, if not in offense.

Continuing he clicked his tongue,  
«He's not known for associating with the uh, _lower classes_ , you're not the most likely pair.»

She took another step back to try to move away from him, there was something dangerous about his mood. Like a black cloud that kept expanding and she wanted away from it.

Clicking his tongue again he kept going in his condescending mumble that had a razor sharp edge to it, almost like a warning,  
«I'm not one to decide or dictate what Wayne Junior wants, but you don't seem like _it._ »

She was drowning in his voice, in her own confusion and couldn't help but feel his words sting. He was mocking her. Whether that was the intention or not didn't matter, he was mocking her in an attempt to get an honest answer. What he didn't know was that he'd get an honest answer, either way, he didn't need the detour of insults and crass insinuations. She took yet another step back away from him and his dark cloud,  
«What-you-do you-I don't-»

He continued, unaffected or fazed by her confusion, looking up as if reading off a script in the clouds,  
«This is a man who has it all, why would he then choose to _luncheon_ with a part-time nurse, part-time librarian archivist?»

She stood still and felt her jaw tense, not just from anger, but she couldn't help but feel the insults sting. There was no reason to toy with her, she would have given him all the answers he wanted had he just chosen not to offend her.  
«Just stop,» she heard her voice as sharp as his state clearly and he did just that, he stopped and looked back at her.

She looked at him incredulously,  
«I just don't understand. Why is important? Why do you give a shit? And why do you always ask questions you seem to have to answer to anyway?»

He took a step toward her, though in Murphy steps it was one and stood towering over her, as always, his smell enveloping her,  
«Just calm down,» he sighed, «This is a question I don't have the answer to, hence the question.»

She felt a breath she didn't know she had been holding leave her and her body relaxed, almost slumped where she stood. She brushed the hair from her face and considered it, the trust was there for her to tell him, but again, why would he want to know and most of all, how did he know?

«Fuck,» she sighed back,  
«He's helping with the clinic, that's all. He wants to upgrade the place, turn it into a sort of field hospital and help us fund it,» she ended with a shrug.

His brows raised, he didn't look convinced so she kept going,  
«It wasn't a _date_ , but clearly you figured that out pretty quick,» she couldn't help but let her voice turn bitter.

Without missing a beat he shot back,  
«Did you want it to be?» he asked simply, but all it did was piss her off.

Taking another step back from him just to make sure she wouldn't be bewitched by him somehow, she sighed again in frustration,  
«No! Not that it matters anyway! Clearly, the guy wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole anyway!»

She had barely finished the sentence when the gap between them closed again and she was lifted off the ground and seated on the railing behind her, his arms around her and his smell yet again surrounding her as much as his body. With a gasp, she had no choice but to cling to him so not to fall backward and she searched his eyes for any clue as to what was coming next.

«What are you-» she croaked in confusion.

With one hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her even closer with a low hum, she felt the warmth radiate from him as though he was a fire. When he spoke it was with a deep rumble, serious and calm but somehow comforting. There was something about merely being psychically close to him that settled her nerves, regardless of the situation. He would wound her up and confuse her over and over but then he'd remove the gap between them and she was left in an almost childlike state of comfort.

His voice was deep but clear and sharp as he looked back at her confused state with unwavering eyes, his hands cradling her face,  
«I don't want you to forget, do you understand? I want you to remember.»

Bewildered she shook her head just slightly and looked back into those brown eyes to try to make some sense of his words. He was trying to tell her something and she was desperately trying to understand, but she just couldn't grasp it. His eyes didn't explain, but they showed her something she hadn't seen before. A more human side, it was nothing short of vulnerable.

When she spoke, her voice came out soft,  
«I don't-please just-»

Leaning his forehead against hers, he merely repeated himself,  
«Don't forget it, baby,» she looked to his eyes again only for a second before he removed the little of space between them and kissed her.

She wished she could understand, confusing was the word to describe her relationship with this man. Somehow though, being near him seemed to be the only way for her to understand him. There was something about kissing him that felt right, as much as they bickered and pissed each other off, they fit. The girl who trusted no one was making out with...she didn't even know who she was. In her head, she called him Marlon because of the resemblance, but she had never gotten a name. He had taken the liberty of calling her by her surname and somehow she didn't mind. Despite everything telling her otherwise, she felt some kind of comfort and safety with him, like it was just mean to be that way. Kissing him felt right, trusting him felt right and she couldn't deny that she hung on to every word he said as though it was law. She missed him when he was gone and felt a strange fear surface as she realized she wanted more, she wanted _him_.

Breaking the kiss she rested her head on his shoulder and reveled in the sound of his ragged breath in her ear.  
«When will I see you again?» she breathed before adding, «and don't say 'soon', you're making me feel like a Bond-girl who doesn't know she's getting ditched.»

A light chuckle came from deep in his chest,  
«I don't know about my schedule, but I'm sure I can squeeze you in somewhere,» as he said that he pulled her into his chest and squeezed her making her giggle like a maniac. There they were, two maniacs in an alley in the Narrows, neither one having any idea of what they had gotten themselves into.

After reluctantly leaving _Marlon_ to go back to work, Murphy was in the back storage, desperately wiping anti-bacterial wipes around her face and neck in an attempt to remove the thick paint. She had almost forgotten about it until she wiped her face and noticed the red. If anybody had seen it she was sure he would think it was hysterical, but giving him something to laugh about on her behalf wasn't high on her list. She didn't have a lie to cover that up, especially not on the spot. Smiling to herself at all the hypothetical situations that may result in she threw the wipes in the bin and walked back into the surgery to see her hopefully only patient.

Seeing her patient _patiently_ waiting just where she had left her, Murphy rubbed some antibacterial on her hands and let out a breath,  
«Alright, how about we get you off that metal table and into a real bed?»

Sitting up with ease the girl mulled it over before casually pushing a thick strand of red hair over her shoulder,  
«You know, I actually wouldn't mind that. Laying here I feel like I'm about to get autopsied.»

Murphy chuckled as she walked over to her side, «Yeah, it's not the most comfortable place to sleep.»

«I guess there's no use in trying to get home now, anyway,» the redhead muttered with her soft and yet deep and warm voice. She reminded her of old school Hollywood, like Lauren Bacall or Katharine Hepburn. Fiercely independent and radiantly beautiful. In that way, she wondered what the hell this girl was doing in the Narrows and not on the big screen.

Again, Murphy was amazed by how psychically unaffected her patient seemed by both the pain and the meds given to her.  
The only way to move her to the beds was for Murphy to work as a crutch on her left side, her undamaged side, and for her to hobble over to the next room. She was still adamant that she didn't want any other nurses and when Murphy informed her that she would have to deal with another nurse in the morning, she begrudgingly agreed to stay the night regardless. All thanks to none other than Mr. Wayne himself the beds had been put in the week before so patients didn't have to sleep in the surgery or like most, in the reception. The redhead was happy enough with the arrangement, it was clear she didn't have anywhere else to go and she knew just as well as Murphy that there was no way she could walk anywhere with that leg. She was proud, that was clear and Murphy could relate. Nothing was free in the Narrows so receiving free medical treatment and a bed for the night couldn't come without repercussions. Most of their patients, the ones who weren't in the mob, felt the same way. People weren't used to being treated like just what they were, people.

Helping her into the bed, Murphy got her settled and just to be safe gave her a little more pain relief to help her through the night until the next nurse came in. Leaning over her to inject the morphine, the girl twirled some of Murphy's hair between her fingers and gave a distant smile,  
«You were gone for a while,» she breathed as she pushed some of Murhpys hair to the side with a small sigh.

«Even nurses need a break sometimes,» Murphy smirked and finished hooking up the fluids.

Looking back at her she noticed her cheeky grin as the girl put her thumb to her neck and showed it to her, a smudge of red.  
«Is this the kind of _break_ you usually go on?»

 _Shit._

She froze, having no idea what to say or do. Instead of a complete sentence, her words came out as a clumsy selection of random words and sounds that made no sense. It was like she had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Although she had no reason to explain anything to a patient, she hadn't had one yet who was actually perceptive enough to notice something like that and call her out on it.

«Damn, you look like you're going to choke!» the girl threw her head back and laughed so hard it was more like a cackle,  
«Oh my god, what do you think I'm gonna do? Call the cops?»

Murphy still lost for words merely stood and watched as her patient laughed until she nearly cried. Apparently, she had to have looked truly terrified to justify this kind of reaction.

Trying to come down from her laughter the girl cleared her throat,  
«Okay, I won't tell on you, scouts honor.»

Letting out a nervous laugh Murphy removed her gloves and smiled,  
«Thank you for your discretion.»

«I'm sorry, I'm just teasing,» the girl chuckled and sat up with her back against the pillows and her red hair cascading over her shoulders as though she was at a sleepover and about to gossip about the other girls in school.

Reaching her hand out she gave a genuine smile,  
«I'm Pamela, just call me Pam.»

Returning the smile Murphy couldn't help but like this free-spirited flame-haired girl,  
«Nice to meet you, Pam, I'm Murphy.»


End file.
